Mr Darcy's Vow
by timunderwood9
Summary: Darcy's father had been reckless, self indulgent, and extravagant. He sold part of the ancient holdings and left the estates with vast debts. Despite years of effort, Darcy still owed a huge sum. Then Georgiana eloped... Completed work, posting three times a week
1. Chapter 1

Derbyshire, Autumn 1806

Fitzwilliam Darcy stood by his father's open grave. The parson droned on endlessly.

 _Finish, Mr. Pruitt, finish_.

Every kind word said about his father was a lie.

Darcy looked at the carved oak surface of the coffin, and he saw his father's face as it had been that day yet again. He felt the helpless rage — the sickness of learning his father, his hero, was a worthless spendthrift.

 _Ninety thousand pounds? Why have we never economized?_

Darcy had begged his father. The image was burned into his memory: his father had worn embroidered red silk dressing gown that had cost near fifty pounds. The room was filled with sculptures, paintings, and expensive curiosities from around the world. A beautiful blue porcelain snuff box sat on the corner of the desk.

 _Father, we must spend less. It will not be very painful to economize._

Darcy remembered his father's open face harsh and hard for once. _We are gentlemen; our comfort and consequence must be maintained. I shall hear no more of your timid tradesmanlike obsession with pennies and shillings. We are Darcys. We are not vulgar._

Darcy had completely lost his temper then. _We will be nothing! Nothing when the estate is sold. You will have no damn comforts then. Georgiana? Me? Have you no care for us? Were your words about duty lies? So help me, by God! I swear. I swear to God I shall be nothing like you. Damn you. Damn… Damn!_

 _Fitzwilliam._ His father's voice was ice. _Gentlemen don't lose their temper._

There had been a terrible pause, and his father's gaze had bored into him until Darcy flinched back.

 _I am your father. It is not your place to make demands. I will hear nothing more on this subject. Go back to your university and be glad I do not disown you._

It had been four years. How much more debt had Father accumulated?

Tears — Darcy was not sure if they were of anger or of grief — tried to gather. The old parson wouldn't stop talking, and Darcy's eyes stung in the chilly winter wind. The mourners had gathered like a flock of ravens to pick at the dead. They wore beaver top hats and black overcoats. The sun was bright, painfully glinting off the February snow.

A drunken midnight race across a snowy field with George Wickham. Even knowing his father was a fool, what was a man near fifty thinking to accept his godson's challenge?

 _Ha!_ _If you had listened to me, you would be alive. I wanted you to get rid of that vicious, dissolute gambler years ago. But no, you were a vicious, dissolute gambler yourself._

George Wickham openly wept.

He should. He had killed Father.

Darcy wanted to strike him, to take his glove and slap his young rival across the face. He would challenge Wickham to a duel and gain revenge. He would gain satisfaction for how Father had loved Wickham better and for how Wickham killed him with that race.

Darcy saw Bingley's concerned eyes looking at him. His anger loosened. He was exceedingly glad his friend had dropped all plans to travel to Derbyshire with him. Bingley somehow saw when Darcy needed quiet and a sympathetic presence and when he needed conversation.

Darcy let out a long breath.

Mr. Pruitt spoke the last sentences of the rites. The funeral was almost complete. He would not let his anger against Wickham control him. _Gentlemen don't lose their temper_.

The other mourners, local gentry mostly, watched sadly. Tears showed in a few eyes besides Wickham's. George Darcy had been well-liked in the neighborhood, and though deeply in debt, he was generous to his friends and the largest employer for ten miles around.

At last the service ended. The other people present left or shuffled by to shake Darcy's hand.

Mr. Windham, an older man whose estate bordered Pemberley, laid a sympathetic hand on Darcy's shoulder. Darcy had always seen Mr. Windham as an extra uncle, and unlike Darcy's father, Windham sincerely cared for his tenants and estate. "It is not easy, even if you are prepared, to learn an estate — I hope your uncle will give you much help, but I am far nearer. Do not hesitate to seek help."

With a stiff nod Darcy thanked him. Mr. Windham's bald forehead gleamed in the thin sunlight.

Mr. Windham hesitated. "Fitzwilliam, there is another matter. A month ago I received a substantial inheritance invested in government funds. Your Father intended to sell me the lands between our estates to me when I took final possession of the money."

Darcy clenched his jaw. So Father had planned to lose yet more of the land which had been held by the Darcys for more than a century. Darcy hoped to save it all, every fragment of Darcy land left. He would be the opposite of his father.

"It was an informal agreement — you are not honor bound to sell." Mr. Windham spoke into the silence after Darcy froze. "I know your father had great debts, but I do not know how great."

"I shall find out the particulars this afternoon. But I will not sell if I have any other choice. The land is my heritage, my duty. I will care for it if I can."

"I expected you to speak so. You always — your father was a good man in many ways, but he was not a good master. You always showed more true Darcy dignity. I hope it does not come to this, but if you are forced to sell any land, I promise I will give a good price."

Darcy did not reply.

Mr. Windham stuck out his hand and Darcy took it. They shook hands firmly.

Soon only Darcy and Bingley remained.

The gravedigger went about his business. He held the spade with one hand far forward, nearly touching the metal, and the other far back along the handle. Remembering geometry classes, Darcy realized the gravedigger had created a lever and fulcrum that let the man push the shovel deep into the dirt and with an efficient motion quickly toss the moist pile of mud into the grave.

Each shovelful of dirt hit the wood with a soft plop.

Plop. Plop. Plop.

Now dirt fully covered the polished oak.

Why?

Why wasn't his father honorable and good?

Darcy tensed to keep from crying. The hole slowly shrank. He would not grieve for a man who tried to ruin his family.

The gravedigger finished and Darcy handed him a shilling as a tip. He left to go about his day. Only Bingley was there, stomping his feet and clapping his hands together to stay warm in the cold. Darcy ignored the chill on his face and the painful bite in his feet.

He stared at the freshly turned dirt.

Bingley pushed Darcy's arm. "Your solicitor and steward. You have an appointment. Remember." Darcy took a deep breath and straightened himself. Silently the two friends walked out of the churchyard.

Despite Bingley's presence Darcy felt empty and alone.

He would not let himself cry.

Tomorrow he would see Georgiana. His uncle, Lord Matlock, had pulled her from school and taken her to his estate fifteen miles south of Pemberley. Tomorrow Matlock would bring Georgiana with him and stay for three weeks to help Darcy settle into management of his estate.

Matlock had always been kind to Darcy. He also counseled his father to be reasonable and economize.

Georgiana.

She must be taking this so hard. She adored Father and had been torn by the years of strife between Darcy and him.

Though he avoided his father, Darcy wrote many letters to his sister and spent as much time visiting with her as he could. Though she was twelve years younger than him, until he had met Bingley a year before, she had been his only real friend.

After his first term at university, Darcy came home for Christmas and found the fields near Lambton sold and vast debts remaining. There had been vast debts for years and years. And he'd never known. It was that dizzying loss of security which made Darcy return to Cambridge determined to save every penny of his allowance. He moved from his expensive rooms to a small boardinghouse mostly inhabited by poor second sons seeking to become clergymen. He sold his horses and made do with only one servant. His old acquaintances laughed at him. Darcy now realized he should not have isolated himself, while many of his aristocratic peers sneered, some of his old friends had genuinely cared about him. Besides, he had never needed to live _so_ shabbily.

The walk back to Pemberley took fifteen minutes. Darcy received and returned sad nods from each person he met on the road. The ground was hard from the cold.

The house had been decked out in mourning for its lost master. All the drapes had been changed to black, and planters of black flowers had been set round the windowsills and portico.

Wickham sat in one of the velvet-trimmed waiting chairs in Pemberley's entryway. He stood before Darcy's eyes adjusted to the comparative dimness of the room. "Fitz, I must speak with you."

Darcy's face curled in disgust at his childhood friend's continued familiarity. If charming George hadn't flattered his father's every notion, Father wouldn't have been such a fool. Half his father's excesses were the fault of George Wickham.

Darcy stared down from his superior height. Wickham's eyes were red from his tears. Darcy felt a stab of guilt: He had not cried: should not the son be saddest? Without speaking Darcy walked past Wickham.

"Your father promised to support me in establishing a profession —"

Darcy turned. "I shall deal with you later. _After_ I speak with Mr. Harding and Mr. Henry."

With a frown at the delay, Wickham gestured his acceptance.

Mr. Henry, the family's solicitor, and Mr. Harding, the man who replaced George's father after he died, both stood upon Darcy's entrance to his father's study. It was a lavishly decorated room. A vividly colored painting was set in the door itself dancing nymphs surrounded a muscular man with a sword. The tall walls of the room were bordered all around with life-size portraits of Darcy's ancestors. For more intimate discussions, there was a fine stuffed sofa and several armchairs around a table with a collection of the best crystal glasses and a decanter.

A Ming vase, a real one, unless his father had been hoodwinked, sat above the elaborately carved fireplace. That would fetch a pretty penny when he sold it.

Darcy had not stepped into this room since his argument with Father years ago. There were different paintings, a mechanical music box now stood in a corner. The armchairs were new: heavy walnut with beautifully chiseled lion's paws for feet. Later he would decide which items he would he sell and what items would be kept for sentiment or practicality.

At least the heavy desk was the same.

Darcy gestured for the two men to sit. He took his own place, for the first time, in his father's seat. Before he spoke to the lawyer and the steward, he pushed his chair back and looked through the large windows at the expansive vista. It all belonged to him, the product of a proud family tradition which went back nearly to the Civil War. This was his land. His responsibility. By Jove, he would meet his responsibility.

"Begin," he said to Mr. Henry. "How much debt did my father accumulate?"

The solicitor raised his eyebrows at the way Darcy phrased the question and pulled a large calfskin notebook from his bag. He opened it to a long list which he handed to Mr. Darcy. "Here are all of the various debts, commitments, and promises your father has made — including the bequests in his will. The mortgages on Pemberley and your other estates, together with various unsecured debts owed by your father, come to a sum of one hundred and seven thousand pounds sterling. This does not include the thirty thousand settled upon the female descendants of Lady Anne Darcy by your father's marriage articles. No interest charge is associated with your sister's dowry, but it is a sum which you are required to deliver upon your sister's marriage."

Darcy nodded and tapped his finger against each item in the list. While extremely large, the debts were smaller than he had feared. Near the bottom he saw Wickham's name. His childhood companion received a bequest of one thousand pounds and a promise to provide him with the living at Kympton upon the death of the current holder.

By Jove, Wickham a clergyman?

Darcy carefully examined each item on the list. Mr. Henry began to speak, but Darcy held up his hand and shook his head. Once finished, Darcy settled the notebook onto the table and squared his shoulders. "Mr. Henry, what did you wish to say?"

"Mr. Darcy, despite your debts, your assets are extensive. Mr. Harding" — he pointed his elbow at the steward who sat next to him — "will know every detail, but the income of the Pemberley estate has averaged a little more than ten thousand. You own a townhouse in London and another in Bath. All the minor landholdings and estates scattered around the country have been sold to protect the main holdings around Pemberley. Additionally, you have an account used to meet ongoing expenses which currently has three thousand pounds at Hoare's bank."

Mr. Henry grabbed the notebook he had handed Darcy and opened it to a different page before returning it. "This summarizes the income and expenditure for the estate over the past years. Your father spent roughly twelve thousand before interest charges in each of the last five years of his life, adding to his debts each year. While substantial economies could be achieved in the management of Pemberley house, you cannot maintain the manor house and the house in London and pay the interest charges. I recommend you put Pemberley up for rent and obligate the lessee to pay for the servants needed to maintain the mansion. You can live comfortably in London or Bath on the net income and — if you are careful — slowly retire the debt."

"No." Darcy spoke in a tight passionate voice, "This is my land. Darcy land. Land continuously inhabited by us for a century. I will never abandon it."

Mr. Henry pulled his hand through his blonde hair at Darcy's vehemence. "Mr. Darcy, you are a very young man; you have a romantic attachment to the notion of family responsibility, but you have no sense how expensive this house is. It requires a large crew of maids to keep the rooms clean. Your carriages and stable cost far more. When you entertain or travel to London, it costs yet more. Your estate is unentailed — which is why your father could mortgage it so heavily — if you add to those debts, eventually no one will extend you further credit, and you would be forced to sell your land and be left with little money. Do you understand?"

Darcy's jaw tightened at the patronizing question.

He had thought of nothing else since he had discovered at seventeen his father was determined to spend and spend and spend. "If it takes so many maids to keep the rooms of Pemberley clean, I will let them become dirty. If I cannot afford my carriages, I will sell them. If I must entertain more than I can afford to maintain my consequence, it shall not be maintained. I care nothing for appearances. I will not act to impress vain fools who measure a man by how many carriages he owns or on what street his London townhouse is. The land. It is the land that matters. My responsibility is to my land, to my tenants, and to the future of my family name. Pemberley is my birthright. I'll never leave her. I am _not_ my father."

The lawyer straightened. "You are not. I think you are little like him. If you know what you are about, if you will do what is necessary to cut your debts and protect your family's heritage, you'll be a far better gentleman than most. I think you'll do. I could never convince your father to cut anything."

With a thin smile, Darcy said, "I am prepared to cut everything. We shall sell the house in Bath and the house in London. I will sell the jewelry the family has collected. We will sell the artwork in the galleries and any valuable first editions from the library. I shall sell my father's wine collection and the two newest carriages."

Darcy pointed at the Ming vase on the mantelpiece, "Much of what my father has collected can be sold at a good price. Every room, every knickknack, every object in my possession shall be examined. Anything with enough value to be worth the effort will be sold. The staff will be enormously reduced, and I will make no pretense of maintaining appearances. However" — Darcy looked at Mr. Harding — "everyone who loses their place here will be supported 'til they are well-settled elsewhere. All of my dependents are my responsibility, like my land and tenants. I will never shirk a duty."

Once alone Darcy slumped in his chair and covered his face with his hands.

More than one hundred thousand pounds. Even if everything went well, it would take well over a decade to clear. To a man of twenty and two, it seemed an endless prospect.

He had already deprived himself and cut his expenditures to the bone at Cambridge, so he could save three quarters of the allowance his father gave him. Darcy had expected he would only possess what he saved and earned through his own efforts. Now he would live in a dirty house, with a cheap carriage and poor stables, for another fifteen years.

No matter. He could face any task, no matter how unpleasant, so long as it was his duty.

At a knock on the door, Darcy straightened himself. "Enter."

It was Wickham. "I saw Mr. Henry and Mr. Harding leave; you said we would speak once they left."

As he stared at the well-dressed young man with his expensive haircut and fine black coat, the rage which each sight of Wickham had brought since it happened built again in Darcy's chest.

A drunken midnight race.

Wickham said, "I'm sorry for — I am sorry that — by Gad, I can't speak — I see it again and again, Musket's legs stumbling and, and your father — if only I had not suggested — Fitz, your father was the — he was the best damn gentleman in England. He was the best damn — I'll never meet another man of his quality. He was my best friend."

Wickham's arm brushed at his eyes.

Darcy's hand curled into a fist at Wickham's girlish grief.

After a pause for Darcy to reply, Wickham wiped his nose and said nervously into the silence, "Your father, he promised me the living at Kympton when it becomes vacant. But he promised me that if I wished to pursue law, he'd help me establish myself. I do not believe — I would not make a good clergyman and I wish to study law."

Darcy did not break his stare at Wickham, and Darcy took a perverse pleasure in seeing Wickham rub his hand against his leg as he spoke. "I thought you could give an immediate sum to allow me to study law and establish myself. The value of Kympton is seven or eight thousand, so six thousand would be a fair recompense for giving up my claim on the living."

Without altering his glare, Darcy thought quickly. Now was the time to get rid of Wickham. If Wickham gave up his claim to the living, Darcy would never need to see him again. Father wanted Wickham to have money to set himself up at law; Darcy would happily give the minimum that would accomplish that. The current expense would be amply repaid when he sold the living to a man with a decent character after Mr. Pruitt died. Wickham would not hold out for the living itself when he wanted money _now_.

At last Darcy said, "Your calculations are poor. We do not know when the old vicar will die — the promise was to support you in establishing yourself, not the full value of the living — I will offer two thousand. With your bequest of one thousand pounds that is ample to live on while you study law and to let you purchase a clerkship with a respectable lawyer. If you apply yourself assiduously, you will earn more than you could as the rector of Kympton."

Wickham's mouth fell open. "You plan to rob me! This… this is because you blame me — you should not. It was an accident. No one — I assure you no one is more grief stricken by your father's death than I am. His death struck me as hard as my own father's — nay, harder."

"He was _my_ father. Not yours." Darcy ground his jaw shut to keep from shouting. He had never yelled since that argument when his father said that gentlemen don't lose their temper.

Darcy slowly mastered himself. "That is my offer. You will receive no more."

George Darcy's lesson to never yell had been better learned by his son than his godson. "Damn you, Fitz. Damn you! It is not that you blame me — you are jealous. You hated that he loved me more than you. I deserved his love more. You don't mourn him at all — you are happy he is dead. You are pleased to finally have this great estate for yourself. Damn you. He deserved better than you. He deserved better than a heartless prig. I ought to have been his son. He loved me as though I were."

Darcy's jaw hurt from how he clenched it. "Get out. I will send you an agreement which you can sign or not as you will. But if you do not, you can bring suit against me when I award the living to another, for you shall never enjoy my patronage."

"I deserve more. But you are a damned thief. I will sign your damn agreement, but one day" — Wickham slammed his hands onto Darcy's desk — "one day you will regret stealing from me. One day I will get revenge."

Darcy tried to sort through his father's papers before he joined Bingley for dinner. But there was a note written in his father's hand, and the sight of that familiar script caused Darcy's throat to tighten again and tears to well up. Nothing more would ever be written in that hand.

It took Darcy several minutes before he had calmed himself enough to stand, and he sought out Bingley. The two spent several hours playing billiards. Bingley made Darcy debate inane subjects to keep his mind occupied. Darcy ignored the emptiness in his stomach. But as they entered the dining room, Darcy caught sight of a large portrait of his father staring down at him with his friendly smile.

He should've removed that portrait so he couldn't see it.

Darcy clamped his lips together and ignored the food. He drank glass after glass of wine. It took several hours before Darcy was intoxicated enough to say it.

The two had moved to the fine wingback chairs in Darcy's library. They faced each other across a small coffee table.

"I can't understand it." With a shaking hand, Darcy placed his drained glass down. "Why? Why am I sad? I should not be sad."

"Of course you should be sad, your father just died."

"No, I _shouldn't_! I should not. I… I cannot, not in sober thought, think it anything but a blessing he died when he did. He was not a good father. He was a wastrel and imprudent. He brought his own death upon himself. I should not mourn him. I should not."

"Darcy, when my father died, I — he was a better father than I believe yours was, but he was a very imperfect man. However, when he died I could only think that I would never see him again. There was an empty space in the world which he used to occupy."

Bingley took a deep breath, "I am not ashamed to say I wept like a woman. It is natural. Think on the happy times, and mourn the man he was and the man you wish he had been."

"No, I won't. I won't —"

Darcy could not keep speaking. He remembered a moment from his childhood: He had been a small boy, and his father lifted him onto a pony. His father's hands were large and protective. Father laughed; the boy had felt warm and happy.

He sobbed. Darcy could not stop it. Bingley stepped close to his friend and pulled him into an embrace. For long minutes Darcy's tears fell into the shoulder of his friend's coat.

When the spell ended, Darcy pulled his muslin handkerchief out and blew his nose. He could not speak his gratitude, but he gave Bingley a nod that Bingley returned. In the companionable silence which followed, Darcy knew his friend understood.

Darcy pushed the mostly empty second bottle of wine away with disgust. He had work to do on the morrow, and feeling sick would not help. Darcy stood unsteadily to his feet and saw the room spin slightly around him. "I shall retire — I may mourn my father, but I will be a better man than he was."

 **AN: So this story is complete and now posting. There are about 100k words, and it is thirty chapters which I plan to publish three times a week. Mr. Darcy's Vow was published on Amazon 9 months ago to admittedly mixed reviews. I have removed it from Kindle Unlimited so I can share it with all you lovely people here. It is however still available at all the major ebook retailers if you are interested in supporting the author or finding out what happens faster. I hope you enjoy.**

 **Also I want to thank** **Steelio, Publicola, BethJH, Elle, Naomi, LisaMarie, and BettyJo for reading the manuscript and offering thoughts and corrections.**


	2. Chapter 2

August 1811

Today was Pemberley's account day.

Mrs. Reynolds and Mr. Harding sat around the small table in Darcy's study. Darcy chatted amiably with them while they waited for Mr. Henry to arrive. The lawyer was soon brought up, and he waved good-naturedly before settling onto the brown sofa next to Mr. Harding.

Almost every quarter his pile of debt shrank and his income grew. The regular review of his affairs was useful, but Darcy loved the ritual of it.

Darcy jovially greeted Mr. Henry, "Did your niece's wedding go well?"

"It was a beautiful ceremony — my sister cried, but she is prone to emotion. Sophie was ecstatic, and her young gentleman properly serious and enamored." Mr. Henry grinned. "The breakfast was excellent, and there was dancing in the afternoon. An exemplary country wedding. They shall do well together. He is already well-established, and I heard a very good report from the senior partner in his firm."

Mrs. Reynolds said, "I am glad to hear that — I recall when I gave the girl a tour of Pemberley." The housekeeper turned to Darcy. "That was during your father's time. She was a sweet young thing."

Darcy said, "Your family must be pleased for her to be so well-settled."

"Yes, though my sister shall miss her daughter a great deal. Oh — I heard an excellent one at the wedding."

Mr. Harding perked up and rubbed his hands together, while Mrs. Reynolds rolled her eyes. Mr. Henry collected jokes and anecdotes about lawyers. Darcy had heard many of them when he visited the Inns of Court as a student.

Mr. Henry spoke, bobbing his blonde head, "What is the similarity between a lawyer and an apple?"

"I have heard this one." Darcy shook his head. "It is not the best."

Mr. Henry pouted and then grinned again and gave the punchline to the other members of their group, "They both look especially well when hanging from a tree."

Mrs. Reynolds pursed her lips to keep from smiling and shook her head in mock disapproval. Mr. Harding barked out a laugh. "I enjoyed that one — do you recall the one you told at our last meeting? What is the distinction between a judge and the Almighty?"

Mr. Henry's eyes brightened. "Oh yes."

Darcy smirked. "The Almighty knows he is not a judge."

Everyone laughed, and then Darcy asked Mr. Harding to list out the rents received during the quarter. It was odd that Darcy was so relaxed with his staff while being known in society as stiff and haughty. He found it difficult to relate to his peers. They were obsessed with superficial concerns and the pursuit of empty pleasures.

He was only intimate with Bingley and his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam. But they were enough.

Mr. Harding took his carefully written account book out and read from it in a clipped tone. Once he listed the rents, he described the prices received for the various goods directly sold by Pemberley and then finally the estate expenses and taxes. Darcy kept a tally in his head of the numbers, and when Mr. Harding finished Darcy said, "My sum suggests we earned somewhat less than fourteen thousand in the past year? Is that your value?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very good." Darcy smiled and nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Harding."

There was a simple joy in the receipt of rents and reduction of debts. Darcy did not think he was greedy; he certainly did not squeeze his tenants or servants. But he loved owning a well functioning estate that created huge sums of money every quarter.

The cotton mill had caused the biggest increase in his income. It had been his uncle's idea. Several of the mills which Mr. Arkwright built in the Derwent Valley were on the Matlock estate, and they had made his grandfather and uncle wealthier.

Enough water flowed through Pemberley's land to support a mill, and Lord Matlock naturally wished his brother-in-law to share in his own good fortune. However, George Darcy refused the advice: It would be beneath the dignity of the Darcy name to participate in such a low endeavor; it would encourage the growth of new fortunes; and those large brick buildings were unsightly.

Upon his accession to the estate, Darcy eagerly made an arrangement with a manufacturer. Rather than buying the lease of one of his tenants to find room, Darcy tore up a third of his park. Old trees — many of which he had already decided to cut and sell to the Navy — elaborate gardens, and half the deer park had been removed to make room for the mill and living space for the workers. The stream had been dammed, creating a large mill pond. Now the sound of the running waterwheel and clanking machines was usually audible, though barely, in the distance.

The rest of the park had been turned to productive use as well. Rather than paying more than a hundred pounds a year to keep a vast neatly mowed lawn, Darcy had meadows for his best breeding animals. Most of the ornamental gardens had been replaced with vegetable gardens whose produce was sold to the mill workers. The orangery still operated, but almost all its production was sold as well.

Darcy missed the old forests and freely running stream, but the rolling green land around was beautiful. He loved the constant hum of productive activity, the view of grazing cows and horses from his window, and the laughter of the apprentice children attached to the mill on Sundays.

After Mr. Harding's report, it was Mrs. Reynold's turn to describe the household expenses.

Darcy always had her list each item, even though most were the same every quarter. As Mrs. Reynolds described exactly how much in wages had been paid to each servant, how much the feed for his horses had cost, and how much his food cost in fuel and ingredients his mind wandered.

Mrs. Reynolds continued, "Three hundred fifty for the rent and establishment in Ramsgate for Miss Darcy. One hundred fifty for her allowance and the salary for companion. Ninety-five pounds for the piano you purchased as a surprise for Miss Darcy's return."

"It arrived?" Darcy sat more alertly.

He had always been close to Georgiana, but this past year she had been difficult. He had been scornful when she asked for a greater allowance. He was comfortable being thought an impoverished eccentric, but Georgiana was young, and she had been terribly over indulged by her father. He should have been kinder.

Hopefully, a full size Broadwood would make a fine peace offering. Georgiana adored the piano, and Darcy loved it when she begged him to listen to a piece she had practiced.

She had gained her affection for the instrument while at school, so the expense of sending her back after Father died had not been completely wasted.

"It came two days ago while you dined at the Windhams." Mrs. Reynolds replied, "Their man set it up in the main drawing room, and one of the maids who had some skill with music tested it before we sent him off with the pay. It sounded very well, Miss Darcy will be ecstatic when she sees it."

"I hope she shall."

Georgiana had wanted a larger allowance, like the other girls at school. Darcy had lived for three years at Cambridge on less than he already gave her.

He did not want her to become like their father.

When he refused, Georgiana had stormed and cried and said she never wanted to see him again because all he cared about was money. Then she begged to not be returned to school because she was too embarrassed to face the other girls.

Darcy remembered being embarrassed about money. It had been painful, but he was a better man for having endured it. He nearly sent her back to the school on the principle that she should learn not to care. But, the biggest lesson his sister had received from the hundreds of pounds of tuition paid each year was that she had an obligation to spend as much money as she could.

He had been a numbskull when he sent her back to a school chosen by _Father_.

It would only compound the error to force her to return. Darcy agreed to let Georgiana leave school and live under the supervision of a companion for a few months while finishing her studies. Mrs. Younge had been found through a friend of Colonel Fitzwilliam. Georgiana had wanted to be on the seaside, so he rented a house for her in Ramsgate.

When Darcy traveled to the town with Georgiana to make sure all of the affairs were sound, they argued again when the size of the house and number of servants disappointed her. She had been taught how to _properly_ run a household at her school, and it required more money. They parted on poor terms.

He had failed in raising her.

There had been too much influence from her father. She was ten, past the most impressionable age, when Father died. It was obvious in retrospect that close association with other wealthy girls would encourage her in that reckless mindset which valued expense and luxury while despising responsibility.

He should have hired a governess and kept her at Pemberley.

When she returned from Ramsgate, he would do a better job. He would throw out the useless curriculum that taught girls to paint tables and net purses. Instead he would take Georgiana around Pemberley with him, so she could understand how much _effort_ went into producing the wealth she casually wanted to waste. He would make her understand.

Darcy missed his sister. She was sweet and enthusiastic and made the big house brighter when she was home.

Twice he almost decided to visit her. But Darcy always had matters of pressing business. More importantly, she wished to be on her own, and perhaps she would be happiest without his watching eye for a few more weeks.

Mrs. Reynolds completed her list. "Including the higher expenses for Miss Darcy's care, over the past year you spent twenty-nine hundred pounds."

"Very good," Darcy replied distractedly. He fiddled with the stack of papers in front of him. "Mr. Harding, you have a daughter near Georgiana's age. How do you manage her? I cannot make my sister understand the importance of discipline and frugality."

"Do not ask _me_ for advice — my wife mainly raises her. I only know she is the sweetest and most irresistible creature when she wishes a special treat or a new dress. It is Mrs. Harding who will tell her no."

Darcy made an unhappy face.

"She will grow up eventually. Do not worry over much, Mrs. Harding assures me they are all silly until much older. Miss Darcy is a good girl."

"I hope so."

Mrs. Reynolds said, "Fifteen is a trying age. The dear girl will become wiser as she grows. I know it."

Darcy wanted to puff out his cheeks, slump in his chair, and sigh loudly.

Maybe, she would not grow wiser as she became older, and his errors would be the cause. He could not whine and show such weakness in front of his employees. Though he considered them his friends, he still was the Darcy of Pemberley and their master.

Darcy sat straighter. "Time will tell. Mr. Henry, your report."

Mr. Henry listed the terms of each new lease negotiated during the past quarter and said, "The payment we made this quarter to Hoare's bank was the last money we owed them. In total we reduced the debts by seventy-five hundred pounds this year. Interest payments for the year were a little less than thirty-three hundred. Your total debts are now sixty-one thousand pounds."

The lawyer took off his spectacles and smiled. "I noticed while preparing the figures that this was the first twelvemonth since you took the estate when your income after interest was greater than ten thousand pounds."

Darcy grinned. "So, I am worth the ten thousand a year Pemberley was always supposed to earn."

"If you wish to boast about it, you ought to dress the part. Otherwise your listeners may not believe you."

Darcy frowned. Over the years Mr. Henry had gone from fearing he would turn into a spendthrift like his father to not so subtly encouraging Darcy to spend more and enjoy life more. If the man had not become a friend, Darcy would have been offended by the out of place suggestion from a subordinate. But, being obsessed with one's dignity and protecting the distinction of rank was the attitude of the worthless members of the gentry who paid no attention to the labor required to produce their money.

This was one of the few matters Darcy agreed with his father about. George Darcy had always encouraged informality and friendship among his employees. His closest friend had been the previous steward. Mr. Wickham senior had been an excellent steward devoted to the family's interests. It was not a dangerous self-indulgence to follow that example.

"I do not care to impress anyone. Those who know me can judge my character. That is enough. I shall not dress to suit the income of a man with ten thousand a year until all my father's debts are gone."

"You should not deny yourself every indulgence while you are young."

"I enjoy my life well enough. You speak out of concern, and I will not take offence, but this is not a matter I shall budge upon. In any case, should no serious problem arise, I shall be clear well before I am five and thirty. I shall still be young enough to kill myself on a fast horse chasing some poor fox while imitating the style of Beau Brummel."

The way Mr. Henry peered at him showed skepticism combined with having taken the message. Then he frowned. "Did you consider Miss Darcy's dowry? By my calculation you will be six and thirty at least before you could set aside a fund to cover it. Most likely she will marry before then. Though if rents continue to rise" — he grimaced, showing he did not think it likely — "it would be faster."

"I thought about it. My sister, and her heirs, should never be at risk of destitution in the way she was during my father's life. I would not give permission to a gentleman unwilling to accept a settlement which only gave him the income from her money. Then I can secure the principal against Pemberley and pay Georgiana's income out of mine. Since I shall never need to suddenly find thirty thousand pounds, I consider it more a future expense than a debt. It perhaps is a fatuous conceit, but…" Darcy spread his hands out wide.

"I consider that a sensible view," Mrs. Reynolds spoke before anyone else replied, "and you do spend six or seven hundred pounds upon Miss Darcy each year. You shall be the loser by less than it appears."

"Have you considered marriage?" Mr. Henry spoke, "It is not my place to advise you on such a matter, but a large dowry would do much to bring forward the day when you are free of debt."

"I have not thought much upon it." Darcy shrugged. "I wish my marriage to be more than a mercenary arrangement to acquire the largest dowry possible. And most heiresses are spoiled and would spend more than the income brought by their dowry."

The girls Georgiana wished to impress and their older sisters would make poor wives for a man such as him.

"Besides," Darcy continued, "It would not be such an easy task as you believe for me to find an heiress to marry. Many believe I am on the brink of bankruptcy. Most in London would be shocked if they learned my income was even half what it is in truth. Few heiresses would attach themselves to an austere country gentleman with little wealth."

Mr. Henry began to speak, "That —" He cut himself off. "It _really_ is not my place to advise you in this matter."

"What about Miss Bingley?" Mrs. Reynolds asked, "She spoke admiringly of how you managed the house and claimed the economies we use are charming. I think she admires you; any sensible lady would. Her brother would put no obstacle to such a marriage." Mrs. Reynolds eyes sparkled. "He is the easiest mannered gentleman and such an excellent friend for you."

Darcy shrugged. He was not going to insult a gentlewoman, but he did not trust Miss Bingley's _professed_ love of economy. While she might ecstatically claim she wanted to live simply and spend little, Bingley complained about how she begged for a little more money a few weeks before every quarterly payment of her allowance.

More importantly, while somewhat attractive, she was not to his taste. Miss Bingley knew how much he was really worth, and he did not want to marry a woman who would pretend to be a type of person she was not to attract a wealthy husband.

Mrs. Reynolds wanted little Darcy children to run about the house, but Darcy did not expect to marry until his debts were cleared, and even if he did, it would not be to Miss Bingley.

Mr. Darcy smiled at Mrs. Reynolds but shook his head slightly. "Is there any other business we should discuss?"

In a few minutes more the other three left Darcy's study. He straightened his papers and smiled at the numbers. Only a bit more than sixty thousand left. It would not be many more years. Life was going splendidly.

A footman knocked and entered, delivering Darcy's mail. One letter caught his eye. The curve of the letters was familiar, and the address showed it to be from Scotland. He did not have any acquaintance who might correspond with him in Scotland. Something about the letter gave a cold chill, blowing away his pleasant mood.

When had he seen that handwriting?

There were two papers folded inside the letter. One was in Georgiana's hand. With a sick dread Darcy unfolded it.

 **AN: Hello again, and thanks for continuing to read. What do you think the letter will contain...**

 **The first chapter author notes were somehow not saved, but I added the acknowledgements for my lovely betas on this book, whose work is deeply appreciated.**

 **I'd like to make a quick appeal:**

 **I write these stories for a living, and I make enough money to pay for rent, food and health insurance. I also really like entertaining people, and the simple act of creation is extremely fun and rewarding. But it matters to me that I try to make a broader difference. This is why I donate money each month to Doctors Without Borders, and I want to encourage you to do so as well. They make a significant difference in the lives of hundreds of thousands of people by providing medical care to those who would not have it otherwise. If only small part of you donate, we could literally save a life. Please join me and donate to DWB or another group that focuses on helping those who have the least.**


	3. Chapter 3

Darcy sat in a heavy red armchair in a posh meeting room inside Hoare's bank. The summer heat made it unpleasant in his cravat and coat. As he waited he pulled the already worn letter out of his coat pocket once again, and he studied his sister's handwriting:

 _You shall be startled by my news. I am married, Fitzwilliam. Married to the best man in the world. You remember George Wickham, our dear father's godson. I met him again at Ramsgate, and he loves me. He loves me. It is so fresh, each time I think on it I smile and feel like to explode with happiness._

 _The only, only sadness I feel is that you shall not be happy with me. At least not at first. You do not approve of my dear George; it is natural as you both — though good — are so different. He is not noble and austere, but open, charming and sweet._

 _I know I have always disappointed you. You desired me to be as hard and stoical as yourself. I wished for life to be more like it was when Father lived. It was wrong of me to grow angry when you would not indulge my feminine weakness. I shall miss you. We both shall long for those times when you sat on the bed next to me and read until I fell asleep, or when I played for you, inspired to perform my best so you would be proud. But I believe you shall eventually be happier without the responsibility for my welfare._

 _Even if you are not, I cannot turn away from my dearest, dearest George. He needs me. You said he could manage on his own, away from us. But he could not. When I met him again, he had nothing. He needs to be part of the family like he was when Father lived._

 _I know it is wrong for a woman to marry without her family's consent. But I cannot repent because Father would have approved. I know he would have; he saw George as his second son. And now he is, like he should have been. One day we will all be a happy family again._

 _You shall be lonely — you must find a dearest woman whom you can love as completely and unabashedly as I do my darling husband._

 _I kiss this paper and hope you will feel my affection through it._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Georgiana Wickham_

Darcy rested the letter on his knee and wiped at his eyes.

It had been near a fortnight, and every time he read the letter it knocked a hole in his spirit. In the first year, before he sent her back to school, she ran to greet him with an embrace when he returned from the fields or from observing the construction of the red brick factory and the dam across his stream.

He remembered the day she was born.

She'd had the bawling red face of an infant. But she focused her eyes on Darcy when Mother handed him the new baby to hold. She smiled. During those years when he spent almost nothing at Cambridge, he had known someone would need to care for little Georgie.

Darcy rubbed his hand over his mouth, barely comforted by the gesture. Expensive paintings hung around the richly appointed office he waited in. It was hot. He wished he could pull off the cravat and splash cold water over his neck.

Had he failed or was the fault his father's blood?

It did not matter.

He loved and missed his sister no matter what. His dear sister was ruined in the eyes of society; worse, she would be terribly unhappy once she understood the sort of man Wickham was.

And he… he needed to destroy his own finances once again. He had thrown everything into increasing his income and paying off the debts. Now he needed to borrow again; she had undone _years_ of self deprivation.

Darcy refused to dwell on the money. He would not be like Shylock unable to decide if he missed his ducats or his daughter.

Georgiana mattered, needing to keep expenses cut to the bone for years and years more did not. Not really.

Four years. Four more damned years of debt. And that was only if he could find someone to lend the money.

She was still just a child. A foolish young child who didn't understand. It had been his duty to protect her. You don't blame a child because you failed to protect them.

Mr. Hoare entered the room. He was a soberly dressed man of about fifty who wore a full wig. The Darcys had banked at Hoare's for many decades, and the genial face of Mr. Hoare was a familiar sight. This time, however, he grimaced and would not meet Darcy's eyes.

Mr. Hoare settled into his desk and opened the monogrammed leather bound folder which contained his summary of the Darcy accounts. He gazed at a spot next to Darcy's shoulder. "The weather? How was it in Derbyshire when you left?"

"Pleasanter; a touch too warm, but nothing like," Darcy waved his hand about, indicating the city itself. Mr. Hoare's manner gave Darcy an anxious chill. The banker would not lend him nearly enough. Proprieties should be observed. Keeping his voice pleasant, Darcy asked, "I am surprised to see you in London this late in the year, when will you head to your pile in Exeter?"

"I already spent August there. For those of us who are used to it, London in the summer is not so bad, at least not when the river doesn't stink." Mr. Hoare laid the folder flat and said, "Mr. Darcy, I was shocked to hear about your sister, but you should not beat yourself up about it. These things happen, they do. I fear the only reason you might be here is to find the funds to pay out her dowry."

"I am. I borrowed five thousand from friends in Derbyshire, but I need another twenty-five."

What if Mr. Hoare could not loan anything?

He would find some expedient. He always did.

The government's massive demand for funds to prosecute the war against Napoleon made it hard for private citizens to borrow. Most lenders preferred to keep the term of their mortgages at only a year or two, and Darcy had repeatedly struggled to find new money when a friend of his father's did not wish to roll a mortgage.

"Only five thousand? Mr. Darcy, I can provide something, but far less than you need. My loan book is still longer than is comfortable. Because your family has been our clients for so long I can loan you five thousand, but more than that would be unsafe for me. We have survived so long by never overextending ourselves."

"My security is excellent. You can take a mortgage against well-developed fields in Derbyshire."

"Mr. Darcy, you know it is not a matter of security. I simply do not have the money. Why did your uncle not help? Even if he is very angry about your niece's behavior, he should be concerned about keeping land in the family."

Darcy had expected his uncle to help him — his uncle always helped him. But not this time: _I won't help you pay off that gamester your father raised and his block-headed daughter._

Over the past years, he had needed his uncle's support to avoid any land sales. Half Darcy's remaining debt was directly held by his uncle, and much of the rest was held by friends of Matlock's who were willing to do a good turn for the Earl's nephew. Darcy's prickly manners at university and refusal to spend more time than necessary in London for the season meant he had little acquaintance to beg outside of his own county.

"Lord Matlock thinks I should force Mr. Wickham to go to Chancery for Georgiana's fortune. The Lord Chancellor is a friend and owes Lord Matlock a favor. Apparently he thinks it would take near five years before a judgement would be made for Wickham."

"Oh. That is a sensible plan. The law is clear, and he would receive it in the end, but you would be able to acquire much of the funds needed out of your rents. To make it easy to gain a girl's portion when she marries without consent is encouragement to fortune hunters and imprudence. This Mr. Wickham cannot be well positioned to handle the costs which bringing a case before Chancery requires, and in the end his costs would come out of your sister's portion."

"Wickham is a dishonorable, vicious man lacking in all principles. But I am not. The funds are owed upon my sister's marriage. The funds will be provided. He may have taken my sister, he may have won his revenge, but he will not force me to act dishonorably."

A little voice spoke to him: _That is not your only motive_. Darcy looked out the window at the smoggy street. Wickham might hurt Georgiana if he was not paid.

She was just a child. She had run away, but it was still his duty to protect her. He still cared for her dearly.

"Do you know where I might find more funds? Is there any bank, or friend of yours, or someone who could loan me twenty thousand?"

The banker scratched beneath his wig. "I do not think any respectable bank will lend you much on short notice. I only will loan you what I offered because our houses have been friends for so long. Conditions are so tight. Mr. Darcy — you do not wish to hear this, but you should either follow your uncle's advice or sell outlying fields."

So Mr. Hoare could not help him. He still needed to find twenty thousand.

Darcy stood and shook Mr. Hoare's hand firmly. "Thank you for your help."

MDVMDVMDV

Darcy stepped out into the London sun from the dim environs of Hoare's bank.

He sat against one of the pillars next to the entrance and slumped with his head in his hands. Why did Georgiana need to run away? What sin was he paying for?

Perhaps he could find one of those men who preyed on gamblers and ignored the usury laws. He had no idea what rates they charged, but they must be absurdly high. Certainly they could provide twenty thousand.

Had Wickham forced him to borrow from criminals?

"Darcy! Your hotel told me you'd come here, I hoped to find you before you left. It would be a terrible bore hunting all of London."

Charles Bingley clapped him on the shoulder, and Darcy stood with a sudden smile. "Bingley, what are you doing here?"

"I heard what happened. I am so, so shocked Georgiana could act in that manner." Bingley shook his head. "Come, you must come with me to my club — we will dine together. I will absolutely hear no opposition to this."

Despite recent events, and the failure of his errand Darcy could not help but feel cheered by Bingley's company. "I would not dream of opposing you."

"You ought to have sought me out as soon as you arrived in London."

"I believed you resident in the new estate you let in Herefordshire."

"Herefordshire?" Bingley stared blankly at Darcy.

"You wrote to inform me you took an estate in Herefordshire; _surely_ you have not forgotten letting a new estate so quickly."

Bingley's face cleared. "Drat! You misread my handwriting — I must strive to write clearer, or have Caroline write it out, if I ever have any important information to convey. My estate is in Hertfordshire. It's less than a half day's ride from London."

"Herefordshire to Hertfordshire, a leap across the country made with one inkblot — you _should_ dictate if it is important."

Bingley laughed and pushed Darcy into his carriage. They were in motion for less than a minute when Bingley said, "Darcy… your manner was exceedingly depressed when I picked you up. If you still need money towards Georgie's dowry, it would delight me to help you."

Darcy stretched his legs out and turned to his friend. "You just let an estate, and you will purchase within a few years — this is hardly the time to strip yourself of funds. I did not intend to ask you at all."

"Nonsense! There was never a poor time to help a good friend. Besides, though I may plan to buy an estate, I daresay it would hardly be prudent to put all my resources into it. And do not say I will be better off in government funds — Boney might stop his Majesty for paying off his debts, but you'll be good for the money."

Darcy's frown showed his continued hesitation, and Bingley added "Come, I insist. What do you need."

They locked gazes, and with a shrug Darcy admitted, "Twenty thousand. So you see it is a large sum I still need to find. I can't borrow from you; it would be years before I paid you back. The term for my loan with Hoare's is only a year, and unless the situation changes, he will insist on being paid back quickly. And I have made promises to the friends I borrowed from in Derbyshire such that they will come first."

"Twenty thousand! That is a big amount, but if I cut here and there, I could make do without the income off of it." He snickered. "It shall be a fine excuse not to help Caroline out so often."

"Bingley! I am not going to borrow twenty thousand pounds from you."

"Pray tell — what shall you do to find the money?"

Darcy froze with his mouth open. Damn his uncle for not helping.

"Well?"

Darcy sighed and rubbed at a point on his forehead. "Perhaps one of those criminal types who loan to gamblers. You know, the ones who hire bravos to beat late borrowers."

Bingley laughed. "So you admit you have no good option. Darcy, I would happily _give_ you twenty thousand. You are my dearest friend. You of course would not accept it, and neither would I in your situation. It would not be good form. We are gentlemen, and we have pride. But if _someone_ is going to profit from your misfortune, don't you think it would be damned better for you to be paying interest to your closest friend instead of a criminal?"

"Are you certain?"

Bingley rolled his eyes and grinned. "I _know_ you'll pay me back. It is not like I am doing you a _favor_."

Darcy laughed and shook Bingley's hand. "My deepest thanks."

At the club the two spoke on lights topics, resolutely avoiding Georgiana and the scandal. Bingley had saved him for now, but he owed so much money. He _still_ owed so much money.

If his uncle ever completely removed his support, it would be impossible to raise that much money without selling part of the estate. Without becoming like Father. He needed to find a large sum of capital.

Darcy slowly relaxed as the two played billiards for an hour after the meal. He had no need to worry; Matlock would not do that. His uncle was like a second father to Darcy. He only opposed Darcy paying Georgiana's dowry because he thought it was against Darcy's best interests.

Bingley broke his losing streak by winning the fourth game, and he stepped back to watch the servant arrange the table for the next game. While he chalked his cue, Bingley said, "Ha! That was a good shot — instead of heading straight back to Pemberley you should come to Hertfordshire with me for a month or two. You've hardly taken a break since your father died, and half the purpose of having one's own estate is to entertain your friends." Bingley smirked. "Caroline will be delighted to host you."

"Do you wish to encourage or discourage me?"

Bingley raised his eyebrows. "Maybe her determined pursuit will be put off by the new scandal. But she _is_ very determined. Don't frown in that manner. You are not a coward to be scared off from good company by my sister."

Darcy shook his head and made a face. "I am needed at home. With these new debts, it is more important than ever for me to ensure no uneeded expenditure is made."

As Bingley won the previous game, Darcy shot first. He managed to knock two balls into their pockets and grinned at Bingley, who whistled appreciatively.

While Bingley leaned over the table to line up his own shot, he said, "It's not so important for you to be there. _I_ know your Mr. Harding and Mrs. Reynolds. They are very sharp, very devoted to you — things will not slip if you are away for a month or two. It cannot be wholesome to spend your whole life stuck on the estate, riding out only to oversee tenant matters and going over account books from dawn till dusk."

"Hmmmm."

He _had_ taken few breaks, and all his trips away from Derbyshire had been to buy or sell goods for the estate. Maybe it was time to stop for a month. To think. He needed to understand Georgiana.

What could he have done better?

He did not want to be at Pemberley alone. He had looked forward to Georgiana's return so much. Now that the desperate search for money was over, he simply did not wish to return.

For several minutes the two took their turns in silence. Darcy weighed the proposition. He could conduct much of his business via correspondence, and his staff did not need constant supervision. He had received _the_ letter in his office, and he did not want to return to it. He would enjoy two months of Bingley's company greatly.

He had work to do.

He would not be like his father, doing everything he wanted, with no thought to his duty. Perhaps he could visit Bingley, but the fact he wanted to so badly made him hesitate.

Was he making excuses to avoid facing how all his efforts were set back by four years?

His debts were greater than they had been when he completed the sale of his townhouses in London and Bath. Four years of his life gone.

Darcy had burned the letter Wickham sent with Georgiana's, but a single reading had stamped it into his memory. Only five words.

 _Pay up, brother. I win._

He could not relax _now_. He needed to face every painful duty.

"Is your frown because you found a _real_ reason you need to return to Pemberley?"

Darcy sighed. He needed to face his duty, but his debts would be paid no quicker if he spent two months in Hertfordshire. "I have not."

"Remember, you owe me a favor. Hertfordshire will be far pleasanter if you are there."

Darcy laughed. "You claimed you were _not_ doing me a favor."

The two grinned at each other and Bingley said, "Admit it: you wish to visit. We will have such fun, the hunting is excellent, and I have been told there is a family of beautiful ladies in the neighborhood, and the local gentlemen have been most friendly."

Darcy leaned over the table to take another shot. "Fine, I would be delighted to visit. But do keep Miss Bingley from hounding me too much."


	4. Chapter 4

Taking Bingley's spacious new chaise between London and Netherfield was far more comfortable than traveling by post. The springs were vastly better, and his back would not ache for a quarter hour after leaving the carriage. However, maintaining a carriage and its equipage cost hundreds of pounds per annum. It was not worth the money in Darcy's view. He did keep a curricle which he used in Derbyshire for those times when he did not want to travel by horseback, but it was small and did not need uniformed attendants.

When they came near Bingley's new neighborhood, he pointed out features and landmarks. "That is Oakham Mount, and the estate we just passed is Longbourn. The family had five grown daughters, and I have been told they are all exceedingly pretty. But when I called on Mr. Bennet, the miser did not give me an opportunity to see his daughters."

Longbourn was a decently sized modern brick building with rows of marble columns in front. Darcy smiled. "He was, no doubt, terrified they would see you and run screaming."

"Yes, but would they run towards me or away?"

"I shall leave it to your vanity to determine how I answer that question."

"He shall not hide them away forever! Look" — they were passing through a market town, and Bingley pointed at a red building with rows of huge windows — "that is the assembly hall. They are holding a ball tonight — we shall meet the Bennet sisters there."

"A ball? Tonight?"

"Yes — you shall be able to meet the neighborhood."

"Must I?"

"Now, Darcy, _I_ wish to go — I have been promised the girls are deuced pretty — but I could not abandon you to sit and brood at home. That would make me a poor host indeed."

"I shall go. But I do not expect to enjoy it — no doubt the room will be buzzing with gossip about Georgiana's elopement and my inevitable bankruptcy within ten minutes."

"I'm sure nothing of the sort shall happen. Everyone I have met is very good-natured. This is not London."

Several minutes later they rolled down a fine drive lined on both sides with gnarled oak trees dripping golden leaves. Bingley pointed out the window when they pulled around a small bend. "Look — here it is."

It was a large building with respectable marble columns, and Darcy counted a row of twelve windows along the gallery. There was a wood over to the side which provided plenty of nesting for the pheasants they would shoot. A small stream flowed through the park, but it was too thin to be used for a cotton mill. The value of the land fit with what Bingley said he was paying. Unless there was something not visible at a glance, Bingley had not been gulled by the landlord and leasing agent.

The carriage pulled up and Bingley exclaimed, "Look — Caroline and Louisa have come out to greet us." He pulled open the window, allowing in a blast of chilly air, to wave at his sisters. "Hello, hello —"

As soon as the carriage pulled to a stop, Bingley leapt out and rushed up to his sisters.

Miss Bingley wore an elaborate silk dress with an expensively embroidered pattern. She stiffly allowed her brother to embrace her. Pushing him away, she said, "Charles, you'll damage my dress — there is no need for such low enthusiasm."

Bingley embraced Mrs. Hurst and pointed at Darcy, who had sedately stepped out of the carriage. "Look at who I dragged from London — he is here for rest and relaxation; we shall not let him be annoyed at all — if you see him spend more than two hours in a day at his letters, grab and burn them. I shall depend on you both to help me in my surveillance."

Miss Bingley noticed Darcy's frown and cried, "No, Charles! Don't speak so, you can see Mr. Darcy does not enjoy your joke." She stepped up to Darcy with a deferential smile. "You can depend upon me. I will not betray you if you write your letters in my presence. I would _never_ interfere with your important matters of business."

Darcy shrugged. "Thank you. I am glad I do not need to fear my _important_ papers being burned by _you_."

"If they are so important," Bingley spoke laughingly, "you should not spend so much time on them."

Miss Bingley said, "I believe Mr. Darcy spends so much time with his papers _because_ they are important. You would do well to adopt his seriousness, Charles."

"Yes, _Charles_ ," Darcy said, "you should be more like me. Miss Bingley knows I am a paragon who is worthy of universal imitation."

Bingley grabbed his sister's arm and started to walk the group into the house. "Don't tease my sister. Caroline, feel free to steal Darcy's papers and burn them whenever you will. He'd like the challenge of keeping them hidden."

Darcy said, "I would not."

"You would too." Bingley replied with a bright sunny grin.

Darcy grinned back, he probably would.

Miss Bingley disentangled her arm from her brother's and took Darcy's arm. "I am determined you shall enjoy your stay. I put you in the room in that tower" — she pointed to an addition out jetting from the main house — "it has an excellent view of the woods, like from your second floor sitting room at Pemberley. Mr. Darcy, I was shocked to hear what Georgiana did. We are all your friends, no matter what others might say, you are fine and decent, and you did your best to raise her. 'Tis not your fault."

"If not mine, whose? I shall not blame Georgiana; she was — she is but a child."

Miss Bingley jerked her head around. "You do not blame her? Surely you have no wish to see her or communicate with her again."

"I cannot cease to love my sister because she — I remember her as a babe."

They entered the warm vestibule of Netherfield. Miss Bingley let go of Darcy's arm and tilted her head to the side. "But was not — Mr. Wickham was the son of your father's steward, was he not? Surely you could never accept such a low born man as your brother. You would not, right?"

Darcy examined Miss Bingley's face curiously. So this is what it took to scare her off. She would chase someone whose sister married a servant, but if he planned to associate with that servant as an equal, it would be too much.

"I would." Without waiting for a response Darcy walked over to Bingley and said, "If you expect me to go to your assembly tonight, we will need to get my trunks upstairs, so Judson can get everything prepared for me to dress."

Darcy remembered his little sister as an affectionate child embracing him. If it would protect Georgiana _,_ he would shake Wickham's hand and call him brother. But Wickham despised him as much as he despised Wickham.

Georgiana was lost. She belonged to her husband.

MDVMDVMDV

In a rural neighborhood with a decided surplus of ladies relative to gentlemen, the entry of any eligible man into the neighborhood placed a sparkling 'what if' in the minds of every unmarried lady. What if this new gentleman was her future husband?

Maybe he would sweep her off her feet and carry her to his castle, or, even better, his large well-furnished modern estate. Naturally, the ladies of Longbourn dressed with unusual care the night of the assembly when they would meet Mr. Bingley. Naturally, their eyes turned and carefully scrutinized the entry of Mr. Bingley's party.

Jane's eyes were caught by Mr. Bingley himself; he was a handsome gentleman with easy manners and a ready smile. He charmed all he spoke to and, to Elizabeth's pleasure, singled out Jane as a particular partner. Elizabeth's own eyes were caught by his tall, dour-faced companion.

The instant she saw him, Elizabeth enthusiastically told herself he was the most handsome man she had ever seen. Tall, well-muscled, with an erect bearing, and black hair that fell over his forehead. He was _very_ pleasant to look at. But — did he ever smile? What would he look like if he did?

While Elizabeth admired Mr. Darcy, her mother walked up and pointed openly at the gentleman. "Heavens! Lady Lucas just told me the whole history of Bingley's friend — he stands there haughtily, but he is a bankrupt, and his sister eloped with the steward's son!"

"No! That cannot be true."

"It shocked me exceedingly as well. But be assured it is true."

"He, a bankrupt? I do not believe it — there is something in his face which proclaims he would not be so extravagant."

"'Tis his father's fault. He has a great estate in Derbyshire, but his father gambled away almost the whole value of it. Mrs. Long visited the house on her tour of the north. It was once as magnificent as Chatsworth but now is grimy and collapsing into ruins. He barely held on to the estate, and when his sister ran away, he lost everything when he paid out her dowry. He shall be forced to sell the family lands and live with Bingley as a penniless dependent."

Elizabeth hoped the story was exaggerated. No wonder he never smiled.

"Look at him: He stares about like he is above us and does not want to talk to anyone, just because his uncle is an earl. That does not make him better than us. He has no right to be so exceedingly proud. Look at Bingley dancing with Jane. They make such a handsome couple. I do hope Bingley doesn't let that man impose on his generosity; it would be difficult for his wife."

"Mama!" Elizabeth was angry at her mother's heartlessness. This was a man who had lost everything due to the actions of his relatives; he deserved their sympathy.

"It is early to form expectations — but Bingley is very taken with Jane. Look at how they smile at each other. I always knew she could not be so beautiful for nothing."

Mr. Darcy remained quiet and uncommunicative through the night, and he only danced once with Bingley's older sister and once with the unmarried sister, Miss Bingley.

That alone was enough to set the neighborhood against Mr. Darcy. But a tale of scandal meant he was faced with derision. Everyone thought his character must be ghastly.

Papa would laugh if he was here. It was human nature to believe the unfortunate deserved their fates. It was not funny this time.

Their low opinion of Mr. Darcy was wrong.

Elizabeth only needed to look at him to see it. He was not unpleasant or excessively proud. He was perhaps proud, but a man born to such a great estate and with a peer as an uncle had a right to be proud. He faced poverty, scandal, and the scorn of society with a quiet dignity.

Elizabeth thought his manner marked him as naturally awkward. When the scandal was added to a retiring nature, it was natural he would not wish to converse with new persons.

Elizabeth's eye turned towards him every time she wasn't dancing; he was uncomfortable and… sad. Did he care for his sister? He must. It was terrible of that girl to do such a thing to her brother.

One time Elizabeth and Darcy's eyes met, Elizabeth's heart leapt, and she gave Mr. Darcy a small smile. He returned it for a brief second but then turned away. Elizabeth blushed at being caught but continued to watch him surreptitiously. Near the middle of the evening, as she stood in the line of dancers and waited for a set to begin, she saw Mr. Bingley approach his friend and whisper something which made Mr. Darcy break out into a smile filled with delightful warmth.

Watching Mr. Darcy so absorbed her that Elizabeth missed when the music started and needed to apologize to her partner.

When Elizabeth was forced to sit out a dance due to a lack of partners, she sat behind Mr. Darcy. She laughed at herself; he had not spoken a word to anyone outside his party, yet she was already infatuated.

She was ridiculous.

Mr. Darcy stood with his heavy, thoughtful frown. Hopefully he would turn to look at her, request an introduction, and offer to dance the next set. Even if he did not, the view of his back and the neat fall of his tailcoat was compelling.

The seat of his coat was shiny from wear. Why did wool garments age like that? Cotton or silk would fray and lose fibers from the weave, but they did not change in the way wool did. The coat must be at least three or four years old. Very unfashionable, but his disregard for the dictates of fashion made Darcy handsomer. He naturally created the effect of careless indifference that some dandies spent hours attempting to imitate.

Mr. Bingley walked up to Mr. Darcy and said loudly, "Come, Darcy. I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance."

"I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this, it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room, with whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with."

"I would not be so fastidious as you are for a kingdom!" Mr. Bingley shifted his weight and seemed to see what Elizabeth thought was clear: Mr. Darcy truly wished to be left alone. "Come, I know you wish to brood in solitude — but you did not come to Hertfordshire to stand about like a bear. Several of the girls here are uncommonly pretty."

"You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room."

Elizabeth could not help but be pleased at the praise of Jane. Bingley's reply was everything she could wish for her sister: "Oh! She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld!" Elizabeth's heart leapt as Mr. Bingley continued, "But there is one of her sisters sitting down behind you, who is very pretty, and I daresay, very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you."

"Which do you mean?" Darcy turned around and looked at Elizabeth.

When their eyes met, Elizabeth's heart raced with a euphoric jolt. Her silly scheme had worked. She would dance with him!

Darcy withdrew his own eyes and coldly said, "She is tolerable; but not handsome enough to tempt me."

Elizabeth lost the rest of their conversation in a surge of mortification. She had been caught out and rejected. Her cheeks flamed. It hurt. She wanted to either cry or claw at him.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She normally was the one who discouraged unwanted suitors. She hadn't known being told you were not handsome, just tolerable, could hurt so much.

He shouldn't have been so _rude_. She was never _rude_. Not like that.

Disagreeable, horrid man.

He was repulsive. Every nice thing she had thought about him was clearly false. He was _worse_ than everyone said. _Most_ men liked her appearance very much. _Most_ thought she was handsome enough to tempt. He must be insensible if he could not see that she was far better looking than just tolerable.

Bingley's conversation with Darcy had ended. Elizabeth stood with her colour high and gave Mr. Darcy a slighting incline of her head when he turned to look at the noise, and then she pranced towards Charlotte.


	5. Chapter 5

Darcy settled with an erect posture onto the velvet covered cushions of Bingley's carriage. Despite the late hour he was not tired. The guilt preoccupied him. He should not have said that to the girl. First, she _was_ in fact handsome enough to tempt him. Worse, he had been cruel and ungentlemanlike. Darcy needed to apologize to her.

She had appeared hurt. When he glanced back at her after Bingley left, she sat with a pinched, white face. She was beautiful, and Darcy realized she had glanced his way all evening.

Then she stood and gave him that brave scornful eye.

A selfish part of him liked the idea that at least one woman had been interested enough in him to be hurt by his pique. But she had recovered quickly. When she spoke to her friends, Miss Elizabeth did not stop smiling.

Her smile was exquisite.

Darcy tried to arrange an introduction to Miss Elizabeth, so he could apologize. But, she found a partner for the next dance too quickly and was standing in the line before he found any gentleman whose name he recalled. She remained occupied, moving from one partner to another for what little remained of the night. She laughed and smiled endlessly.

He still needed to apologize.

"Eh, Darcy?" Bingley elbowed him.

Darcy looked up with a confused expression.

Bingley laughed. "It never ceases to amaze the way you lose the conversation when preoccupied. Pray, do you not agree Miss Bennet is the most beautiful creature you've ever laid eyes on? — You need not prevaricate, you already proclaimed her a handsome girl."

Darcy's mind was filled with _his_ Miss Bennet, and he replied without thought, "She smiles too much." Her dimples, the rounded cheeks, her arched lips.

"The deuce she does! She smiles too much? I know you better — you give the best impression I have ever seen of a man determined not to be pleased by anything. For my part, I cannot conceive of an angel more beautiful than Jane Bennet."

Miss Bingley replied from her corner of the carriage, "She was a sweet thing; I would not object to knowing her better."

Mrs. Hurst agreed.

For a minute the carriage was silent. Miss Bingley said, "This is a vulgar, gossiping neighborhood. I was asked three times — three times — if the stories about your sister were true. They wanted to know if I knew Mrs. Wickham. I of course claimed I was not acquainted with any Mrs. Wickham. But, Mr. Darcy, you can see the scandal. Eventually people will talk less — but if you ever associate with _Mrs. Wickham_ , they will remember again."

 _Mr. Wickham_ would prevent any future association. It was absurd that Miss Bingley cared so much about how he was seen. No matter how the public perceived him, he was not going to marry her.

Miss Bingley added, "If you were to appear at a few balls during the season with your uncle, people would talk far less. Though you would need to wear a newer fashion. I cannot say for you to dress like Beau Brummel — with your debts you must be prudent, but you could improve appearances economically."

"Miss Bingley, I do not care a whit how I appear. I never have, I never shall. The opinion of persons wholly unconnected to myself has no influence on my happiness."

Miss Bingley sat stiffly, unsatisfied by that answer. Darcy shook his head and smiled.

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The Bennets shouted, laughed, and talked over each other on the boisterous carriage ride home.

Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, "Dear, dear Jane! You were so admired! I was excessively disappointed to see Mr. Bingley dance with Miss Lucas for his first, but then he noticed you. Heavens! Of course he did — you are so very handsome."

Jane blushed and fidgeted as her mother happily praised her for attaching Mr. Bingley's attention. Though she was made uncomfortable by her mother, Elizabeth saw how her sister smiled at each reference to a mark of Bingley's regard.

Elizabeth was mostly silent on the carriage ride home.

She had nearly told the story of Mr. Darcy's rudeness to Charlotte in a mocking, laughing tone. But she could not. His sister had abandoned him, and he was crushed under heavy encumbrances. He was awkward and unhappy.

Elizabeth's anger died and she felt sad instead of hurt. The rudeness of her neighbors provided some excuse for Mr. Darcy's own rudeness.

She could not despise him.

Besides it did not matter. Even if he admired her greatly, he could not afford to marry a penniless — or nearly penniless — lady such as herself.

Also, what was that Latin phrase Papa liked? _De gustibus non est disputandum._ It was no _failing_ of Darcy's that she was not to his taste. He should not have _spoken_ the insult, but it was no crime to not find her beautiful.

He was _still_ the most handsome man she had ever seen.

She would _not_ cry. She would not.

Elizabeth forced herself to spend the rest of the evening dancing, laughing, and showing the highest spirits she could.

Now, as Elizabeth ignored her mother's inanities on the ten-minute ride home, she saw the humor. She had acted like a silly husband hunting Miss and received the proper fruit of such sly efforts.

After they arrived back at Longbourn, Mrs. Bennet described the ball to her husband at great length. Mr. Bennet's impatience with his wife's detailed report of who danced which dance and the lace on the dresses of Bingley's sisters made him drive them all to bed quickly.

Elizabeth snuck to Jane's room as soon as she was dressed in a nightgown with a blue woolen robe over it. Jane opened her door at Elizabeth's knock. They scooted together under the covers to ward off the late autumn nighttime chill.

"Pray tell, how much did _you_ like Mr. Bingley? For Mama is in love."

Though she could not see Jane's smile or blush, Elizabeth felt them in how her sister shifted her weight and brushed at her hair. "He was most agreeable. Everything a young gentleman should be, open mannered, lively and pleasant."

Elizabeth laughed. "And he liked you as well — which any young gentleman with good sense ought. Why, I daresay he nearly forgot himself near the end of the evening and asked you for a third dance."

Jane giggled. "I am certain he had no such thought in his mind."

"He did — and if he had not, he was a fool. You are not only the prettiest dancer in the county, but the best."

Jane elbowed Elizabeth. "Be reasonable!" Jane turned over in the bed to bring her head closer to Elizabeth's. "Do tell — did someone attract _you_? For much of the night _your_ eyes were on Mr. Bingley's friend, that very tall and well-formed Mr. Darcy."

 _She is tolerable I suppose. But not handsome enough to tempt me._

No. She had kept herself from tears and regret so far. She would not let them take her now. It was a meaningless, _silly_ incident.

"Lizzy?" Jane softly touched Elizabeth's arm. "What is it?"

"I confess; I did like him — do like him — at least his appearance. Very much. However, that is of no note. _He_ likes me not at all." Elizabeth forced herself to smile. She put real amusement into her voice. "It was the silliest thing — I sat near him hoping he would notice me and ask for an introduction. Yes, I know it was most silly of me."

Elizabeth gave a small laugh. "Your Mr. Bingley approached Mr. Darcy and said that he should dance, and I would make an excellent partner. So the tall and handsome Mr. Darcy turned his satirical eye to meet that of the hopeful blushing maiden; their eyes met; her heart leapt in hope. Then he returns his eye to his friend" — Elizabeth used a gruff low toned voice — "Bingley, she is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me."

Jane saw through Elizabeth's laugh and embraced her sister tightly. She kissed Elizabeth on the forehead. "That was abominably rude. I will find a way to show him my displeasure."

"Pray, do not! It was rude of him, but you heard the stories about him and his sister — to have lost a dear family member so recent. He cannot be himself. And the neighborhood treated him abominably. His sister and his debts were the only topic of conversation at the assembly. I watched us talk about him and point at him where he could easily hear. He was rude, but if a gentleman ever had excuse for rudeness, he did."

"You must not allow his words to make you unhappy. You must have felt dreadfully hurt when you heard that. I care not what his excuse was. It was unpardonable — I should tell Bingley they were overheard when next I see him. I am sure he will force his friend to apologize."

Elizabeth laughed. "Dear, dear Jane. I am pleased you would take on Mr. Darcy in my defense. But if his behavior was _unpardonable,_ I wonder at your insistence Mr. Darcy be made to apologize."

"Now be serious. You are more hurt than you pretend."

The two girls snuggled next to each other. Elizabeth felt the irrationally strong sting of rejection. It was foolish to feel so strongly about being dismissed by a man she had not even met.

Silly, foolish, irrational.

Elizabeth sighed. "I am hurt. But his offense against good breeding is not the source of my unhappiness. I daresay it did me a favor. Charlotte would laugh at what I shall say — and you ought as well — but you are my dear Jane, and in a moment you will embrace me and say, 'oh, Lizzy' in that sympathetic tone of yours."

Jane preemptively embraced Elizabeth. "Oh, Lizzy, is it really so bad?"

Jane laughed self-consciously when Elizabeth giggled. "I admit you know me well."

"My first thought when I saw Mr. Darcy was that he was the best looking man I had ever seen in my life — and I include the Drury Lane actors we saw that summer we stayed with Uncle Gardiner."

"Oh — you thought he was so very handsome, and then he said _you_ were not handsome enough to tempt him." Jane embraced Elizabeth again. "Oh, Lizzy."

Elizabeth laughed, and Jane pulled back in embarrassment and said stiffly, "You did deserve better."

Elizabeth embraced her sister. "I did not. I behaved as a silly country Miss with nothing on her head but a well looking gentleman, and the event was quite what I deserved. I can no more blame Mr. Darcy for not seeing me as handsome enough to tempt him than I can blame myself for not seeing Mr. Goulding as handsome enough to tempt me. We are, none of us, to be blamed for our tastes. I have determined to be as forward and insolent in Mr. Darcy's presence as I please. I am not afraid of him. He may not like me, but he is _still_ excessively handsome. His rudeness liberates me to ogle his person as much as I please."

 **AN: I have been reading the reviews, and I would like to say to the people who have been speculating about where I take the characters that a lot of you won't be happy with the choices I made when I wrote this, some of which I think were mistakes too. The Amazon reviews for this book were definitely the weakest I have received :p. So do read with a spirit of charity towards the author, please.**


	6. Chapter 6

The Bennets had invited Mr. Bingley and his party to a large dinner at Longbourn several days after the assembly. Darcy felt unusually awkward as he entered the red brick manor. He would find an opportunity to apologize to Miss Elizabeth. His honor demanded it.

The Bingley party arrived fashionably late due to Miss Bingley's delays, and Mrs. Bennet spent several minutes in a discourse on Mr. Bingley's virtues. By the time it was finished it was time for the guests to be seated for dinner.

Bingley had mentioned Miss Bennet a half-dozen times during the past three days. His friend was clearly infatuated. Mrs. Bennet was obviously aware of his friend's feelings, and like so many women she was forward in the pursuit of an advantageous match for her daughter. Mr. Bingley and Miss Bennet were, of course, seated next to each other.

As Darcy sat, he scanned the dining room. A brass chandelier, whose polished metal gleamed dully, hung from the ceiling. All the candles were lit as the lateness of the season meant twilight had already begun. Beeswax candles were expensive. Darcy reflexively calculated the cost of burning them for the next six hours.

Other candles glowed from brass holders set around the walls. The brightness made an impressive show, and despite the loss of daylight, the details of the room were clear. The Bennets could have lit the room with half that many candles.

This was why he rarely used his main dining room during the winter. He needed to host some dinners to maintain amiable relations with his neighbors. But dinner parties were painfully dear. The roast, the candles, the additional servants for the night. Pemberley had hosted enough grand entertainments during his father's time.

The Bennets served their guests on silver plates, and the first course proved to be a deliciously seasoned ragout. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet seemed careless in the way his father had been. They could not spend this much to entertain their neighbors and put aside for the future when Mr. Bennet died.

Mrs. Bennet was a skilled hostess, and the guests were scattered about, so everyone had the opportunity to speak to someone new. Darcy sat next to Mrs. Bennet, who viewed with satisfaction how her eldest daughter and Bingley were deeply involved in conversation. Bingley puffed out his chest to look a little taller, and his eyes danced as he eagerly spoke to Miss Bennet.

There was a little thought in Mrs. Bennet's extravagance. Even though she only had a small fortune, she depended upon her eldest daughter marrying well enough to support everyone after Mr. Bennet died. Bingley was her target.

Miss Bennet was friendly but showed little animation or enthusiasm as she smiled at Bingley.

Darcy did not want to see his dearest friend trapped in an unhappy marriage that would drain his resources. Not after everything Bingley had done for him. Yet, it was enormously premature to worry about any such matter. And maybe Miss Bennet did dearly like Bingley. Darcy possessed no ability to understand young women.

He had never imagined Georgiana would run away.

Miss Elizabeth was animated as her fine features changed expressions quickly, and she flashed her hands about enthusiastically. She spoke to a gentleman Darcy believed was a Mr. Reed. Her dark ringlets waved; one bounced against her ear.

Their eyes met. Something twisted in Darcy's stomach. When she looked away, there was a pretty pink color in her cheeks.

"Have you met all my daughters, Mr. Darcy?"

It took Darcy a moment to focus on his hostess, then he said, "I was introduced to Miss Elizabeth before we entered the dining room."

Mrs. Bennet sniffed. "They are all well behaved girls. Even Lizzy, though Mr. Bennet allows her to run about. No, you'll never have any scandal come from my daughters. They know what is right and won't dishonor their family. They are always well supervised."

Darcy kept a stiff emotionless mask at Mrs. Bennet's reference to Georgiana. He had _thought_ she was well supervised. If only he had not been so busy. And cheap. It would have been fifty pounds, but he should have hired an investigator to search out Mrs. Younge's past. Her references had been good. Colonel Fitzwilliam had found her, but it was still his fault.

During the entire dinner Elizabeth was constantly aware of Mr. Darcy. She, mostly, kept herself from looking at him.

Why did he scrutinize her? He didn't find her attractive. Was there so much to criticize about her person and behavior?

He could despise her if he will. She would laugh and act as she always did. One time her eye met his. His expression was solemn and inscrutable. Elizabeth looked away and forced herself to only pay attention to Mr. Reed.

But when Mrs. Bennet loudly exclaimed that her daughters were well behaved, it caught Elizabeth's attention. It was impossible not to look at Mr. Darcy.

His face was still and he breathed steadily. He stopped eating and stared at the white linen tablecloth. Her mother's horrid attack had struck a tender point. Many of the rumors claimed Mr. Darcy loved his sister dearly, and Mr. Darcy must feel his own failure as a guardian.

Mrs. Bennet smirked maliciously. "Do you keep a house in London?"

Elizabeth blushed in embarrassment and averted her eyes. Watching Mr. Darcy be embarrassed in this way sickened her. He had every right to despise her as the daughter of such a mother. Everyone in the neighborhood knew the story of how he sold a fine house in Grosvenor Square.

"No, madam."

"Heavens! Why ever not? I believed most old families, such as yours, kept one. It is so important to be able to enjoy the season and provide a display to the other great families. Were our consequence so great as I heard the Darcys' was, we would keep a house in London."

"Of that, madam, I have no doubt."

Darcy was happy the subject had turned from his sister to his supposed poverty. He did not care how extravagant fools saw him. Darcy took a bite from the ragout and let himself enjoy the pungent smell of the spices and the fatty meat on his tongue. He knew his own wealth; he knew that despite appearances he was a substantial man with great consequence.

Apparently convinced she had won a victory, Mrs. Bennet smirked again. Despite being well past forty, she was yet an attractive woman. Miss Elizabeth would likely age as elegantly as she had.

"It surprises me indeed that you have no house in London. My brother's wife is from your region of the country — she grew up a mere five miles from your estate — she once said the Darcys were the greatest family of the neighborhood and they kept a fine house in one of the best neighborhoods in London."

Darcy shrugged. He took another bite of the stew. Perhaps he should praise Mrs. Bennet's cook. He bet himself fifty pounds that she would reply to any such praise by commiserating him on his inability to afford one himself.

Her eyes bright, Mrs. Bennet asked, "Was my sister's intelligence mistaken?"

The pettiness of Mrs. Bennet delighted him. Darcy enjoyed pretending to be considerably poorer than he really was. If Mrs. Bennet knew his true income, she would be eager to attach him to one of her daughters, despite the scandal.

"Alas," Darcy shook his head sadly, "I was forced to sell the house. It was a matter of harsh necessity; a necessity I regret every time I wish I could throw a great entertainment for society. There were enormous debts left from my father's time, and the sale of the house only provided modest relief. My debts forced me to make many sacrifices. I do not even keep a chaise, and when I must travel to London, I go by post."

Darcy sighed theatrically and let his face sag. He wanted to appear as depressed as he could.

Mrs. Bennet sneered. "That is a pity for you."

The woman ceased speaking to Darcy and turned her attention back to Mr. Hurst, who complimented her fulsomely on the quality of the ragout.

He glanced around.

Elizabeth Bennet watched him from the edge of her eyes. Her face was red. Their gazes met again. She turned away immediately. He did not know her, but surely Miss Elizabeth could not be the same sort of person as her mother. Not with her pretty eyes and the brave smile she met his rudeness with. _He_ would not judge anyone by their family.

Elizabeth blushed for Darcy.

Could not her mother see how rude, how improper, how _immoral_ it was to try to hurt Darcy in this manner? Her reference to his debts and the need to sell his house amused him, at least Elizabeth _thought_ from the cast of Darcy's face that he only _pretended_ to be depressed by his inability to throw entertainments of mythic grandeur.

Mrs. Bennet's reference to his sister had hurt. It spoke well of Darcy that his sister's fate concerned him, while he faced his poverty with a sanguine shrug.

Elizabeth only paid a little attention to Mr. Reed, who was telling an extended anecdote for her amusement. After Mrs. Bennet ceased speaking to him, Darcy looked about and their eyes caught. Elizabeth felt embarrassed at having been caught staring at him again. She asked Mr. Reed a silly question and forced herself to listen to his response.

Darcy was a little bored as he sat without speaking. His eyes were pulled towards Miss Elizabeth. Why had he ever said she was not handsome enough to tempt him?

She was very tempting. Her fine mobile features worked into easy smiles as she conversed with the gentleman next to her. Her clear skin showed when she blushed, and the set of ringlets hung neatly around her face. Each time she smiled, one side of her face turned into a pretty dimple.

"Perhaps." Mary Bennet, seated on his other side, cleared her throat. Darcy looked over, distracted from the reverie on Miss Elizabeth's features. "Mr. Darcy, you should read Fordyce's sermons on the education of young women. It has much useful advice. I have copied out long extracts from it."

Darcy grunted but, though it was rude, made no verbal reply.

Undiscouraged, Mary Bennet quoted many passages discussing how to teach young ladies moral behavior and respect for their families.

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After dinner when the gentlemen rejoined the party, Mr. Reed approached Elizabeth immediately. Elizabeth greeted him cautiously. She suddenly suspected from the manner of his smile that Mr. Reed admired her. He had inherited an estate almost as large as Longbourn a few months ago. Perhaps she should encourage him.

After all, she was not handsome enough for Mr. Darcy.

That was ridiculous. Mr. Darcy had nothing to do with the matter. If Mr. Reed liked her, it would be a good match. Elizabeth, however, did not think she liked _him_.

Darcy stood next to the fireplace with his elbow leaning against the mantelpiece. His manner showed a silent disinclination for engaging with the neighborhood. Not that the neighborhood deserved such consideration from a man it abused horribly behind his back.

His eyes settled on her again and he frowned.

Elizabeth smiled brightly and walked up to him. It was time to discover what he was really like beneath the jagged exterior. No rudeness from him would discourage her until she learned all she wanted.

"Mr. Darcy, you gaze upon us all with a satirical eye. What observations have you made? Do you find the neighborhood _tolerable_?"

Darcy was surprised by Miss Elizabeth's approach. Her lips curled up in a playful smile, and one of her cheeks had a delightful dimple. Even though she was referring to his insulting words, the expression in her pretty dark eyes was genuinely friendly.

Darcy smiled at Elizabeth.

His smile was warm, and Elizabeth blushed and looked away, but she forced her eyes back to his face.

Darcy said, "Anything I might say after such a brief acquaintance would shame me. First impressions often are very wrong and rarely should be spoken. If that impression is poor, not only would it be rude to speak aloud, but it would make the speaker a fool." Darcy gave Elizabeth a pointed look. "One might say someone is only _tolerable_ and then discover upon a second glance they are most handsome."

"Now, Mr. Darcy, I do accept your oblique apology, but you do not need to claim you find me handsome _now_. You only need admit that you were rude _then_. _I_ would never judge a man harshly over a matter of taste."

"I _was_ very rude then, but you have always been handsome."

"Yes, I know. My vanity is a towering pillar." Elizabeth patted Darcy on his well-shaped arm. She knew she would be shy if this handsome man was actually attracted to her. "You need not fear you could undermine it. I am determined it always shall stand, immune to all words thrown at it. However, I can only accept your apology for the rudeness, because however _tolerable_ you find me, politeness requires you claim to find me handsome."

"It is not untrue merely because I must claim it."

"Oh, sound reply. I fear I shall never know if I am only tolerable, or if I am, in fact, handsome enough to tempt."

Elizabeth grinned saucily at him. She was tantalizing. It was almost as if she didn't want him to find her attractive. Darcy did not know how to _assure_ her he found her tempting without being imprudently pointed in his admiration. Nothing could ever happen between them.

She added, "I am very grateful you apologized. I thought there was a look of goodness about you, despite your manners."

The sincerity in her eyes touched Darcy. He smiled sloppily back at her. To break the moment, he quirked his eyebrow at her and said, "Despite my manners?"

Elizabeth laughed. "That was ill-phrased. It seems I am now the rude one. You do stand in an… untalkative manner. You are intimidating Mr. Darcy. I only approached you as I am determined to rise to every challenge."

"I am delighted you did. It has improved my evening enormously — I fear I am never easy with strangers. I find it difficult to enter their conversations."

"But you converse easily with me."

"No, Miss Elizabeth, _you_ converse easily with me."

"Another sound reply. I fear I shall seldom win when I contend with you, and I dearly love to win."

"The victory easily obtained is not near as sweet as one struggled for."

"Were you not supposed to say that as a gentleman you would intentionally lose to protect my delicate sensibilities? That would be more chivalrous than a proclamation that you intend to defeat me as often as you may."

"Does my lack of chivalry undermine your belief in my fundamental goodness?"

"Nay — for I fancy myself a great observer of character. It is now a matter of my vanity to believe the best of you — do tell me what you think of the neighborhood. I truly wish to know. You have nothing to fear from me — if you expose yourself _now_ , I will be able to compare what you see presently to what you think when you leave Hertfordshire."

"Miss Elizabeth, that may appeal to _you_. However, _I_ must have an incentive."

"Aha!" Elizabeth grinned brightly. "You wish me to bribe you, so that I can hear the failings of my neighborhood. That hardly seems fair."

"You are the one who believes I think ill of the neighborhood." Darcy found Miss Elizabeth's forwardness charming. Her brown eyes were bright and flashing. He wanted to amuse her so she would stay near and continue to smile. Her perfume wafted to Darcy. It was floral and unsettling. "Perhaps I think very highly of you — of the neighborhood — and only hesitate out of a fear you will think I perjure myself with flattery."

Elizabeth laughed.

The happy sound made Darcy grin at her. The way the edges of her eyes crinkled together when she laughed was delightful. Elizabeth leaned her head back and was unselfconsciously happy. This was no pose of affected amusement, but genuine good humor.

Elizabeth said, "I might like to hear you perjure yourself with flattery — though only if you entirely believe every word you say."

"Then find some bribe."

Elizabeth tapped her cheek, smiling brightly at him. "Pray tell, are you more the sportsman or the scholar?"

"Both, milady. Is that not what is needed to complete the character of a gentleman?"

Elizabeth laughed again. "True — and I expect you to prove the most perfect of gentlemen. But I need more details of your pastimes if I am to _entice_ you."

Elizabeth leaned closer to Mr. Darcy as she spoke and emphasized with a low voice the word 'entice'. She realized she was flirting with him.

"You wish to entice me?" Elizabeth blushed at how Darcy lowered his voice in turn. " _You_ shall find that an easy task. I can fence so well I won the annual tournament at my club, I have jumped many a gate during a fox hunt, and I have been known as one of the best shots in Derbyshire. Yet, when I have an hour to spare, I will study the Latin poets."

Darcy blushed when Elizabeth grinned back at him. He realized he was acting like a fool, boasting about exploits that were mostly a decade old.

"Oh!" She clapped. "That is an impressive list of accomplishments. Do you compose poetry as well? Do you play the lute so as to make a lady's heart melt?"

Darcy turned his face away and, with a nervous gesture he could not stop, brought a hand up to rub at the back of his neck. "I should not brag. I do hunt as well as any other gentleman and remember enough of Latin to get along, but I do not spare the funds to keep a stable of hunters, and usually I am too busy with estate matters to maintain my marksmanship or fish often. My reading is usually agricultural treatises. I do fence regularly for the exercise — I am _quite_ good."

The grin Darcy finished with was boyish. Elizabeth smiled back. The way Darcy flushed as he admitted his pretense was sweet. She liked that he was not really a boastful gentleman who would say anything to impress her.

"And poetry and music? As you have not denied your talents there, I shall believe you to be a true master of both arts."

Darcy flashed his teeth. "You wish me to perjure myself."

Elizabeth laughed.

Miss Bingley walked up to them. Her face was pinched, as though she had tasted something sour. "Poetry? You ask after Mr. Darcy's talents at poetry? There is no need for a man to do something so silly as compose poetry. I would never wish that from a gentleman — you wish to be sly and make sport of Mr. Darcy. He does not deserve to be laughed at."

"I only tease in good humor — I hope I am not one of those persons who would laugh at another's misfortune. Besides" — Elizabeth's eyes flicked to Darcy's face again — "He is a paragon. Have you not heard _me_ admit he is the greatest poet of the age? And a musician of great talent. It is impossible to laugh at one of such grandeur."

Darcy snorted at Elizabeth's impish expression. "I am unsure whether to be astonished at your discovery of such virtues in me — virtues I was entirely unaware I possessed — or to view your praise as a fine example of how first impressions can mislead."

"You should thank me for discovering your great talents, which you can now exploit."

"Well, madam" — Darcy's eyes twinkled as he bowed — "it is not I, rather it is the ages to come who must thank you for the discovery of such skill."

Miss Bingley spoke sharply. "I can see you both are quite amused. How did you arrive at this discovery of Mr. Darcy's talents?"

"Miss Elizabeth wished to hear my observations of the neighborhood. She hoped it would reveal something of my character."

Miss Bingley spoke quickly, "Miss Elizabeth, you wish to hear how an outsider sees your neighborhood? Let me answer." She did not wait for Elizabeth's nod to continue, "Society here is well-connected. It is a marvel, how you all communicate so clearly — if a person enters a room, every story about them will be immediately shared around. The good and the ill. Also, your mother — she's an excellent host. I've never seen someone whose conversation will put a guest at ease better. She would never bring an inappropriate topic into conversation."

Darcy saw how Elizabeth flushed and involuntarily glanced at Mrs. Bennet. Miss Bingley's desire to insult her because of the behavior of her relations annoyed Darcy. A man should be judged by their own behavior, not those of his relations. He was not like his father.

Miss Elizabeth was bright and charming. She seemed little like her mother or the moralistic sister he had sat next to.

 _Georgiana proved to be like Father._

Miss Bingley added, "I heard from my partner at dinner that you visit your Cheapside relations often. Mr. Darcy, did you know, Miss Eliza's uncle is in trade and lives next to his warehouse in Cheapside."

Elizabeth noted the slightly disgusted way Mr. Darcy recoiled from Miss Bingley. It was clear _her_ attempts to entice him were misaimed.

Elizabeth widened her eyes and spoke with girlish enthusiasm, "It is _so_ wonderful to have relatives in trade! When I go to London, I get the ribbons and silk pieces at cost. It lets me extend my allowance so much further!"

Miss Bingley ran her eye up and down Elizabeth. "Yes. With _your_ income that must be a matter of great importance."

Elizabeth nodded eagerly. "Oh it is. With _our_ income."

Miss Bingley sneered. " _I_ am in the fortunate position of being above such contrivances."

Darcy spoke without thinking. "Perhaps your income would go further if fewer candles were burned at parties such as this, and if the meal was kept to only two courses."

Elizabeth frowned at the ground with bright red spots in her cheeks.

Oops.

He had insulted her mother and, by implication, her. He was a blundering idiot.

Would he always be an inarticulate fool in Miss Elizabeth's presence? Darcy quickly apologized, "I should not speak on anyone's housekeeping. It is a personal matter in all cases. Your mother puts on an excellent party, and has been a good host. My need to make compromises should not lead me to disdain those who are in more fortunate circumstances. Might you forgive me for my unwarranted words?"

Darcy's apology gave Elizabeth a sudden insight into his character.

Miss Bingley might think herself above small contrivances to create easy economies, but Darcy obsessively thought about them. When he spoke he tended to be blunt, however, he was not trying to be hurtful, not this time, but rather to express what he would do in the Bennets' situation.

He looked at her with that earnest face as though he was terribly worried she was mortally offended. As if she could be offended by a man with such a sincere face. "Oh, you need not apologize. My mother is a little extravagant, but she means well and wishes her guests to have a good time. My father does not allow her to spend past our income."

Miss Bingley exclaimed, "You should be more cautious. There is nothing I despise so much as extravagance. When I set up my own household, I will practice every possible economy."

Darcy watched Elizabeth's disbelieving expression as she eyeballed Miss Bingley. It was hard not to grin again. She clearly did not believe Miss Bingley's professed love of economy either.

Miss Bingley spoke again, a speculative gleam in her eye, "Miss Elizabeth, you claimed to be an observer of character. What do you think of me? Please, do not spare my feelings — I am not a vain woman. Your true opinions will not hurt me."

Elizabeth pursed her lips. "Hmmm." She smiled impishly. "Even if it were fragile, my assessment of your character would not damage your pride: you are a perfect exemplar of a fine English lady's education."

The manner with which Elizabeth uttered that made Darcy crack a smile. He was sure Elizabeth saw he was amused, though he hoped he hid it from Miss Bingley.

He thought of his sister with a smile. It was the first time he remembered smiling about her. He _certainly_ should not have sent Georgiana to that expensive school.

Elizabeth's description surprised Miss Bingley. "I… well, I thank you for that. But to say I was well-educated does not require much insight. Superior breeding is always evident. If you are a great judge of character, you must have a profounder insight."

Elizabeth's dimple showed again. "Perhaps you should think further upon the insight I already gave you. It has more depth than you realize."

Miss Bingley's lips curled downwards into an unpleasant expression. Before she could speak Darcy said, "Miss Elizabeth, I would dearly like to hear how you see me."

She laughed. "Is this what I deserve for asking you to reveal opinions based on only the briefest of acquaintance?"

"You are the one who is a great judge of character, besides, are not first impressions fascinating."

"I am a great _observer_ of character. My judgment, however, I am hardly qualified to speak towards."

"But nonetheless, I perceive, you think highly of it."

Elizabeth grinned. "Aha, I managed to make you reveal your opinion of _me_ , and without resort to bribery. You see me as quite overconfident, which I suspect to be true." Darcy raised his eyebrows and gave a shrug of agreement. His smirk was very handsome. "Well, as you have revealed your opinion of me fairness demands I make some return."

Elizabeth looked Darcy's long tall form up and down. He was clean and well-muscled. There was an amused light in his eyes. His happiness looked far better on him than his somber manner at dinner or in the assembly hall. His hair was a vibrant brown and his eyes a bright blue. There was a curl that fell over his forehead.

"I do hope your delay is not because your opinion of me is completely negative. I know I have revealed some faults to you."

"Oh, my assessment has nothing negative in it."

"And I believed you to be scrupulously honest."

"I am."

Darcy smiled and waited for Elizabeth to speak.

"You are too solemn. That is my opinion. You do not laugh enough, and you take matters too seriously. Your worries are important — I know they are — but what is the _purpose_ of life if there is not opportunity to laugh along the way?"

Elizabeth spoke with a sudden intensity and passion. Her words struck Darcy as though they provided the solution to his happiness. He had thought he was happy before, but it had been a matter of happenstance. He wanted to smile and laugh more. He'd never laughed much.

Miss Bingley spoke, "Mr. Darcy's manners are perfect — too free laughter in gentlemen is vulgar. The fault is with your preferences — Mr. Darcy has great responsibilities which he strives to fulfill."

Elizabeth tilted her head and pursed her lips and peered at Miss Bingley. The slight shake of her head was dismissive. Miss Bingley flushed.

Darcy said, "You do not think — I could not laugh about the — what has happened…"

"Oh. I do not say you should laugh about _that —_ It does not matter _what_ you laugh about, but no matter how poor the situation is — you should laugh. Happiness is a choice — please, do not choose to be miserable."

"Do you think that?" Darcy found himself smiling. "I hope you are correct." The weight of his debts and worry for Georgiana lightened. "You spoke rightly; I have not been in the habit of frequent laughter."

Soon Mrs. Bennet encouraged an impromptu dance, so Jane might have another opportunity to entice Mr. Bingley. Since Elizabeth's manner at the piano entertained better than Mary's, Mrs. Bennet made her play. After all, no gentleman wished to pay court to her.

Miss Bingley returned to Netherfield that night unusually quiet and surprised by herself. She had decided to pay no further attention to Darcy. If he was committed to one day acknowledging his vile sister, someone else could marry him. That was too much; even Pemberley and a relationship to an earl was not worth it.

But then she had seen that low ill-bred baggage _flirting_ with Mr. Darcy. Miss Eliza made those eyes and smiles at him. Mr. Darcy was _hers_. And no penniless bitch would take him away.

Darcy was like a great wounded beast who normally would shrug off every snare of the hunter. But _now_ , until he had recovered from the shock of Georgiana's muddying her blood and handing a fortune to a servant, a cunning hunter might fell the elephant and feast for the rest of her life on the carcass. That is, live at Pemberley the wife of a driven man who was far wealthier than any other she had more than a bare acquaintance with.

 **AN: So a quick comment on my last author's note: First, I don't mean that there isn't an HEA. Of course there is an HEA. I just drag them through more angst, driven by internal dynamics, not external enemies, than a lot of people enjoy. I did get a lot of really glowing reviews on this story, just there were more disappointed reviews than glowing reviews, while most of my stories have far more happy or glowing reviews than unhappy ones. I still think this is a story that most people will enjoy as it is. Some people will probably really, really enjoy it, and some people will get annoyed with it.**

 **I'm not changing anything though. The story was conceived and written as a single piece with the pacing and logic connected. It would require completely rewriting the story to get rid of the features that annoyed _some_ readers. I am finished with it. ****I post to fan fiction sites because as a member of the community who for a long time didn't have the money to spend on books, it is personally important to me to have my books eventually available for free. But I am not going to spend a lot of time changing things for a free version, even if there are things I might change if the book hadn't already been published.**


	7. Chapter 7

A fortnight after Darcy arrived at Netherfield, a letter from his banker arrived with the morning post. Darcy finished chewing a slice of bacon as he took the paper from Bingley's footman and sliced the letter open. Mr. Hoare's stationery was heavy and smooth to the touch. Darcy stared at the paper without unfolding it; he knew what news it would contain.

Miss Bingley and her brother squabbled about what Bingley had worn to a ball the previous season. Bingley laughed at Miss Bingley. "Nay, I swear I will wear buckskin and a riding jacket to Lady Rutledge's ball next season."

The letter was simple and businesslike. Mr. Wickham had taken possession of the thirty thousand pounds of Georgiana's dowry. The funds had been transferred to Child's Bank.

He had lost the money when Wickham and Georgiana found a blacksmith in Gretna Green to witness their vows. Darcy had accepted its loss already, but now it was _really_ gone. Years and years. It would take years and years to recoup the funds.

Damn Georgiana. Damn her. He sent the money. Why didn't she send him a note which described how she fared?

Maybe Wickham prevented her. Maybe he beat her to gain an additional revenge.

Darcy crumpled the letter. He squeezed the spiky edges of the white ball into his palm.

Damn.

He wanted to pound the small ball against the table until something broke. Darcy closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe evenly.

"Is it bad news about Georgie?" Bingley set his fork and knife aside, and he looked at Darcy with a sympathetic frown.

Darcy stiffly nodded.

Miss Bingley exclaimed, "Oh! I hope she is well. Please, say she is. I was wrong before to despise her! She is a sweet girl who was taken advantage of by that vicious fortune hunter. She is still so young. I wish we could help her."

Darcy stared at her coldly. "So you decided that my fortune is worth such a sister?"

Miss Bingley had expected such a response to a sudden turn about. She had practiced in the mirror and wrinkled her face so tears came out. "Do not insult me so! I have feelings, Mr. Darcy, I do. I remember your sister. She is a shy thing, and she only wished to show and receive affection. I have been too blinded by what society says, but _don't_ say I have no heart!"

Bingley and Darcy blinked at her, and Darcy pulled at the tight wrap of his cravat. "Miss Bingley, I apologize. Do not cry. My temper ran away with me, and I lashed at you."

Darcy almost said he was sure Miss Bingley did have a sincere affection for Georgiana, but while her tears made him guilty, he still thought she was lying.

Bingley said skeptically, "That is a fine performance. She may be a sweet shy thing, but Georgiana also is a damned fool. Darcy _is_ there news of her?"

"Wickham has the money, all thirty thousand pounds."

"Oh." Bingley said, "After the dinner party at the Lucases tonight, we will drink ourselves insensible. What do you say?"

"That will hardly bring the money back."

"The point is to _forget_ the money."

Miss Bingley said, "Does it bother you so? Please, I wish to understand. I know it is a great sum, more than my dowry, but Lady Anne had been the daughter of an earl."

"Four years. I have more debt than I did four years ago. It feels as though I have done _nothing_ in that time."

Miss Bingley replied, "That is not true! You have done a great deal. There is that pretty mill, and the new breeding areas for sheep and cows, and you have repaired all the bridges about Pemberley. It will not take so long to pay this back. _You_ can do it. That is what I admire about you — you always succeed. You shall again."

"I know. But it is hard." Darcy shook his head. He would not have believed Miss Bingley could say something which made him feel better.

Bingley stood up. "Enough of this. Caroline, you'll make me gag if you carry on in this manner. Darcy, we have a full day of shooting and drinking."

Once they were in the forest walking behind the gameskeeper, Bingley said, "You should not trust anything my sister says. She is like Father was, except without the intelligence. She'll say anything to get her way."

"That is not a kind way to speak of your sister. After all, she has a heart."

Bingley laughed. "She hasn't gulled _you_."

Miss Bingley had a dowry of twenty thousand pounds; the same amount he had borrowed from Bingley. It was a great amount of capital. It was worth _years_ of the strictest economy. If he married her, he would no longer worry whether he could protect the estate.

The idea of actually marrying her now brooded in his mind, and Darcy could not force it away.

That evening Elizabeth arrived at Lucas Lodge with bubbly enthusiasm coloring her cheeks. She of course wasn't in love with Mr. Darcy. _He_ did not like her appearance. However, he enjoyed her conversation, _and_ he was as clever as he was handsome. Which was very.

This night Mr. Darcy frowned and seemed distracted. He said even less than normal, and he would occasionally rub his face and sigh. What was the matter? Had he heard something further about the sister who ran away with the steward's son? Was someone ill?

Miss Bingley stood near Darcy and spoke to him with sympathetic whispers. Unlike the other times Elizabeth had seen the two together, Darcy actually paid attention to her and showed real smiles.

 _Surely not._

Mr. Darcy was too clever to marry such a woman.

A quarter of an hour later, Charlotte convinced Miss Bingley to play for them. Mr. Darcy sprawled in a low red armchair in the corner of the room, and he stared at the piano with an unhappy frown.

Elizabeth hoped to make him smile, and she walked across the room and pulled a wooden chair next to his seat. Darcy nodded at her but continued to attend to the music. The strains produced by Miss Bingley were smooth and Elizabeth heard few errors. This corner of the room was dusty and a faint smell of paint lingered from when the Lucases recently redecorated.

Darcy recalled how Georgiana loved to play for him. Miss Bingley showed a well-trained stylistic perfection, but there was no passion for the music in her play. If he married her, the expensive piano purchased for Georgiana would not go entirely to waste.

Miss Elizabeth sat next to him, and he could not smile at her bright presence. She was right that he was too miserable, but he could not undo the tangled anxiety about his sister and his fortunes.

Elizabeth at last spoke, "Mr. Darcy, this is hardly such a piece to evoke such a deep sigh."

Darcy's eye was drawn to her. He saw the peach skin of her elbows, dim in the candlelight, between where the long formal glove bunched up around her wrists and where the sleeve of her dress began. She leaned forward. The folds of her dress outlined her knee. Darcy met her eyes and involuntarily smiled at the concern in them. "Miss Bingley plays — It is… played well."

"Please. Something bothers you. If 'tis not a matter which ought to be kept private, tell me what makes you sigh and scowl."

Miss Elizabeth smelled of roses. She had placed herself as close to him as was proper, and her perfume comforted him. Her yellow gloved hand rested on the arm of his chair.

Darcy surprised himself by telling the truth. "My sister has great skill with the piano. She loves to play very much. Many nights, once the business of the day was done, she eagerly displayed what she practiced that morning."

"Oh. You worry for her a great deal. It torments you that you can no longer protect her."

Darcy nodded. "Even though — It still seems natural to care for her — she behaved abominably, she betrayed me and my family name in the worst way possible, and she set herself outside the bounds of respectable society. But — I love her dearly. I have, ever since she was set in my arms as a crying babe and smiled at me."

Elizabeth ached for him and impulsively shot her hand out to squeeze his wrist, and then with a blush she released it and drew back.

The way Darcy softly smiled back at her made Elizabeth's stomach flutter.

He said, "Others think — I am told I should care nothing for her anymore — all of society, even my uncle, who has done so much for me. Yet, _I will not._ "

He spoke like a solid rock that could not be moved. Elizabeth replied, "You should not. You should not — if society demands you think ill of one who nature has made dear, you — I admire you. You should still love her."

Elizabeth's praise embarrassed Darcy. He would send a letter to Georgiana. He did not know if Wickham would allow his sister to reply, but even though he despised Wickham. he would try.

"Thank you. It — perhaps it is odd, since I always trust my own opinions — your approval, it makes me more certain of myself. I had been unsure whether to mail Georgiana. Some part of me thinks she should return first, begging for forgiveness. But I need to know if she is well."

"I am glad you will. It is natural to care. To throw a fifteen-year-old girl who had been under your protection away from your affections would be unnatural and wrong."

"She is so young, I blame myself. I failed to supervise her, and I failed to raise her properly. I live an austere life. I did not indulge her enough because I wanted her to learn to be like me. I had not recalled how unpleasant it is to appear poorly before your peers."

Darcy's visible melancholy returned. He stared at his lap.

Elizabeth wished to embrace him, to hold him like she would hold her sisters or Charlotte when they were hurt. "You cannot — you cannot blame yourself for not knowing — you tried — you tried with everything to raise her well. It was ill luck, or your sister's own character — not a lack of affection or effort on your part."`

"My sister's character is not at fault." Darcy spoke almost sharply, "She was led on by a foolish affection — she was raised by our father to see Wickham almost as a brother. She is still just a child. When she found him in reduced circumstances… I should have known I could not trust Mrs. Younge. If I had hired a proper companion, the meeting never would have occurred."

"You could not have foreseen —"

"Her letter — the letter which told me she had married — it said, 'he needs me more than you.' I do not doubt that his needs are great, but — he swore vengeance against me. When I would not give him all he wished following my father's death, he swore to avenge himself. He has no affection for her. My poor sister — to love a man who cares nothing for her, who exploited her naivety, a man who will waste all her fortune on cards and other women, like he wasted every other resource given to him —"

Elizabeth briefly squeezed his hand again. "Mr. Darcy, do not make yourself miserable. Life can go on through unpleasantness. Happiness is a choice for her as much as for you"

"How can I choose to be happy when it is my fault. My guilt."

"Do not be ridiculous. _She made her choice_. If you cannot accept that, I will grow quite cross with you both. You should still love her, and forgive her, and even support her, if you can without letting Mr. Wickham abuse you, but at fifteen she knew what she was about. She is _not_ a child any longer."

"But…" Darcy looked away from Elizabeth in discomfort. He was not sure if he saw Georgiana as she was, or if he could only see the affectionate child. The affection in her letter.

"Do you remember how you were at that age? Would you have obeyed your own reason or your father's judgement?"

Darcy smiled weakly. "I was foolish and I thought myself very adult, but I was wrong. She is my sister. A woman. It is a gentleman's duty to protect the weaker sex."

"Absurd fancy. The weaker sex. Do we seem so weak in matters of the heart? We shall make our own fool choices as surely as any young buck will. It is no favor to us to pretend we are insensible creatures not capable of that. And it is a vanity to pretend men are _sensible_. You should have chosen her companion better, and Wickham is a vile man, and I believe your sister to be as good a woman as a naïve girl of fifteen can be, but do not take _more_ guilt upon you than is your due."

"Some guilt is my due then?"

"A little, I suppose. You would not believe me if I said you had no guilt. She was but fifteen and under your care. A girl of five and ten is no longer a child, but she is hardly full grown either. Far more guilt, in my view, belongs to the Church of Scotland which allows such marriages without a guardian's consent. But there is no benefit to agonizing about _their_ role. Think on the past only as it gives you pleasure. When you have a daughter of your own, you shall not make the same mistakes. It does your sister no benefit for you to feel as much guilt as you do, to have the absurd belief it is entirely your fault, or even mostly, and if she is as good as you believe her to be, she would hate it if she knew."

"As a lad, after I discovered what my father was, I thought he would completely run out of money and have nothing left to care for her, and _I_ would need to ensure Georgie was well. Miss Elizabeth, have you ever held a child in your arms and known you must protect her? When she was born — my mother laid Georgiana in my arms and told me I would need to be a man and help care for my sister. And then she smiled at me."

The concerto Miss Bingley played ended. She saw Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth sitting next to each other and she walked to them with a wide smile that did not reach her eyes.

"Miss Elizabeth — my performance? You must have noticed the little errors and fudges I made. I know you did, Mr. Darcy — Mr. Darcy is a great lover of music."

Darcy said, "On the contrary, I noticed no errors. Your technique is superb."

Miss Bingley said to Elizabeth, "I have heard you play a little — the piano is empty; I would dearly like to hear you perform again."

Likely. Miss Bingley hoped Elizabeth's performance would be lacking in comparison to her own. Elizabeth did not care. She was choked by emotion from her conversation. Nothing she said, none of the truisms or trite proverbs anyone _could_ say would undo the brute fact that Mr. Darcy loved his sister dearly, and she had made a terrible mistake.

Elizabeth sat on the stool and leafed through the pieces of music on the piano until she found a song by Robert Burns whose chorus captured her emotion. Elizabeth sung with feeling.

 _Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy,_

 _Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy;_

 _Well though knowest my aching heart._


	8. Chapter 8

When they left Lucas Lodge, the Netherfield and Longbourn parties had been the last ones waiting for their carriages to be brought around. Jane and Bingley had been inseparable again, and Elizabeth smiled at the couple speaking closely to each other. She chatted with Charlotte and kept an eye on where Mr. Darcy stood surrounded by Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. He was mostly silent.

The Bingley carriage was brought round first, and Miss Bingley wordlessly made Darcy hand her into the carriage. She made a fuss of needing her shawls and the blanket arranged properly to protect her from cold, and as Darcy solemnly busied himself with arranging the fabrics, Miss Bingley turned and singled out Elizabeth with her eye. She gave Elizabeth a superior smile.

Elizabeth felt a twinge of jealousy, but she suppressed it.

On the ride home, Mrs. Bennet regaled everyone with each sign that Jane was certain to be soon settled at Netherfield, and Jane was too pleased to object this time. Lydia and Kitty talked over everybody exclaiming how handsome Lieutenant Denny and Captain Carter were.

The next morning Elizabeth set out early on a walk. A small wafting of snow had fallen the previous night, and the bare branches of the trees looked glorious decked in white. The sun had only started to melt it, and sparkling droplets of water dripped from the trees.

It was a cold clear day, and only a few wispy clouds hung like thin sugar confections in the air. Elizabeth had tightly bundled herself up, and the bite of cold on her cheeks was almost pleasant. She skipped along the aged wooden fence that bordered the road. Every so often Elizabeth flicked the white snow off the top of the rails.

In the distance, Elizabeth saw Charlotte walking towards her.

Elizabeth called out to her friend, "Pray, walk with me for some distance."

Charlotte smiled and hurried over. "I hoped to see you this morning. I set out in this direction on the chance you might come this way."

"Is this not a beautiful morning? I love when it snows enough to turn everything white, but not enough to stop me from walking."

Charlotte's bonnet bobbed in agreement. Charlotte then said, "Lizzy, there is a matter… well, you and Mr. Darcy were quite close yesterday."

Elizabeth blushed. "He was unhappy — thinking about his sister — I tried to comfort him, but I fear what I said did little good."

"Most evenings you find some reason to speak to Mr. Darcy as much as possible."

"We are friends — only friends — I assure you."

"Are you? His frequent gazes show more than friendship. And Lizzy, you like him more than you wish to admit. Be cautious — likely his situation is better than many of the rumors, but he still would find it difficult to afford to marry a girl with a tiny dowry."

"We have not known him for much longer than a fortnight. A matter of a half-dozen conversations and several dances cannot reveal enough of his character for me to wish to marry him. It would not be sensible."

"Sensible? _That_ has little to do with the matter. Many persons develop affection and marry on a slenderer basis. Besides I do not think one's likelihood of happiness in marriage would be greater after an opportunity to study the other's character for a twelvemonth. Success in marriage seems to me to be almost entirely a matter of chance."

"Do you wish me to pursue him, or avoid him?"

"You should be wary. It is likely he will marry Miss Bingley. Such a match would make good sense; the close connection to an old family name and an earl would disguise the scent of trade left on the Bingleys' fortune, while her dowry would absorb much of the debts left by his impecunious father."

"She is wrong for him! Mr. Darcy is too sensible to marry a superficial, scheming woman like Miss Bingley."

Charlotte raised her eyebrows expressively.

Elizabeth stopped walking and leaned against the railing of the fence. She brushed the snow away. There was a thick line of hedgerows across the field. The air was cold and clean. A symphony of birds piped their greeting to the morning. Elizabeth tried to pull a splinter out from the railing. Before the slender bit of wood came free, it snapped in the middle.

"I am not in love with him, and I am not handsome enough to tempt him. I heard him say _that_ at the assembly ball."

Charlotte huffed disdainfully. Elizabeth looked at her friend; Charlotte rolled her eyes. "Really?"

Elizabeth blushed. "He said it."

"Lizzy, self-deception is not a handsome characteristic. You like each other."

Elizabeth laughed. "I hope he does not like me, for if I believed that, I would become shy in his presence. He is very handsome. Let us speak no more on this. You are convinced nothing can come of it because of his need for money, and I am convinced there is nothing at all."

Charlotte leaned her elbows on the fence railing. "I am not convinced nothing will come of it. It may be exceedingly imprudent, but if he falls in love, he may act against his own interests. Things appear different when a person is in love."

Elizabeth's heart raced at the thought: what if he did fall in love and ask her to marry him? It was irrational to feel this way so fast, but Elizabeth knew she would accept him.

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One day when the afternoon sun pushed away the cold, Miss Bingley convinced Darcy to take a walk about the gardens with her.

For the past days Darcy had observed her closely. He wanted her money. It was not romantic, but that was the sole reason he was tempted. Marrying a girl who, as Miss Elizabeth described her, was a perfect production of a good English girl's school, left him cold. He needed more in a marriage.

But Miss Bingley really was not so bad. Perhaps she would be tolerable, and if he could tolerate such a marriage, he had a duty to add to the wealth of the family. Besides, he would like to be Bingley's brother in truth.

Netherfield's gardens were picturesque and well laid out. The two ambled around the mossy cobblestoned paths. At last Miss Bingley said, "Mr. Darcy, I know you do not think highly of me."

Darcy made the required denial.

Miss Bingley shook her head. "You do not. You perceive my admiration for you, but I fear you believe I only show you attention because I know you to be wealthy and because I greatly admire Pemberley. Please do not deny it; you _said_ exactly that."

"And you replied that you had a heart. I have since suspected I may have misjudged you."

"You remind me of my father. Very much. You are a man like he was. That is why I admire you."

"Oh." Darcy replied cautiously. He had heard stories from Bingley about his father's ruthlessness as a businessman and how he casually paraded his mistress in front of their mother.

"You are driven by a passion for your family's future. You do what is necessary, and you are not frightened by difficulty. It _isn't_ just your wealth that makes you stand out. The gentlemen in London are house bred lapdogs while you are a confident wolf tested by cold who can hunt down whatever is necessary to feed his den."

Miss Bingley laid her hand on Darcy's forearm, "I do dearly hope a man such as you shall be the future parent to my children. I would know they would be cared for."

She focused her eyes on the ground and blushed. Darcy suddenly saw that while her beauty wasn't vividly alive in the way Elizabeth's was, Miss Bingley was almost a handsome woman. She was not lying. She liked him for more than his fortune.

It gave him a tender feeling towards her that was mixed with a vague guilt. Darcy's mind flinched towards Miss Elizabeth singing at Lucas Lodge.

"Do you believe me?" Miss Bingley asked. "This is not merely words; it is what truly is in my heart."

"I believe you."

"I worry for you. Your life was tied to caring for Georgiana. I recall how sweetly you talked to her and kept her about when we would visit Pemberley. I fear if you return home alone, it shall not be good for you. Don't."

Darcy knew he flinched away from returning to Pemberley for that reason. But would Miss Bingley be good company? She played and talked well, but there was an overbred shallowness about her. He did not know what it would be like to live with her for years.

He said, "You and Bingley live very well here. Life at Pemberley is more constrained. I do not spend money on clothes — or many daily comforts. I do not entertain often. If I married, I might become more sociable and spend more to please… her, but I still would set aside at least five or six thousand a year to reduce my debts."

"I have seen how you live."

"It will be many years before the debts are gone. Likely a decade."

"You fear I could not be happy? Please, Fitzwilliam" — she looked at him with appealing eyes — "I would not mind."

"You do not know how it is to live under such conditions for year upon year. It is a different life. Your friends might sneer at you for having less of clothes and carriages than they."

Miss Bingley pressed her lips together and grimaced. But she spoke firmly, "I understand — it would not be forever. Eventually everyone would see your worth. I know it."

Darcy looked down and pulled at his ear. Marrying her was the right, prudent, thing to do.

He simply did not know.

"I shall think on the matter. I still hesitate. I do not love you, and I always thought — "

"Do you not respect me? And we have been friends for many years. Is that not a sufficient basis for companionship? You are a practical man."

"Mayhap you are right, but… I do not know. Not yet."

The two parted. Miss Bingley entered the house, after giving Darcy a smile that was kindly or hungry, and he went to the stables. He needed to marry now that Georgiana was gone, so he could have an heir.

He no longer disliked Miss Bingley. There was something appealing about how she wanted him, and she was prettier than he had realized before.

Prudence and duty pointed towards her, and she would be a tolerable wife, though not who he would have chosen if there was no need for money. He _really_ would like an additional twenty thousand pounds.

He did not need to make a final decision yet, but he should marry her. He could wait a few more weeks to see if his judgement of her character worsened in that time, but before he returned to Pemberley, he would probably offer marriage to her.

Darcy had a good ride and decided the idea of marrying Miss Bingley was pleasant. He would like a woman in his bed and managing his house. Miss Bingley was pretty enough.


	9. Chapter 9

One cloudy day a note arrived from Bingley sisters that invited Jane to dine with them. Mrs. Bennet frowned at the note. "The gentlemen are out dining — Jane, you must go by horse as it is likely to rain. Lizzy, it is odd they did not invite you as well. I have seen how you talk so much with Miss Bingley."

The rain started heavily only minutes after Jane left, and Elizabeth frowned and fidgeted.

There was no news of Jane until the next morning when a footman from Netherfield arrived with a note written by Jane that announced she was ill. Her poor sister would be quite lonely with just the supercilious Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley for company.

"Mama," Elizabeth announced, "I going to visit Jane."

"I see no call for that. Jane said it is a mild illness, and if you are present you may interfere with Mr. Bingley attending on her."

"Jane is in bed — Mr. Bingley will be unable to attend on her in any case. It would be completely improper."

"I do not see why not. He might try, at least if you are not there to worry him."

"Mama! I shall visit Jane. Might I have the carriage?"

"By no means. I shall call on my sister this morning and tell her the news. It is much too muddy to walk."

Elizabeth set out towards Netherfield on foot. She knew her dress and petticoat would be a muddy mess after walking three miles over the wet roads. She did not like that Darcy would see her that way.

Elizabeth tried to be careful. She stepped around puddles; she looked to see where the heaviest amounts of mud were before walking; and she still splashed her dress and boots with mud. When Elizabeth arrived at Netherfield, breathless from the long walk, she frowned at her clothing with angry embarrassment. Darcy and, worse, Miss Bingley would see and judge. Elizabeth brushed as much of the mud as she could off of her petticoats and let down her dress to disguise what was left. She hurriedly rearranged her hair, looping back into arrangement the curls which had fallen out.

Before she knocked, Elizabeth attempted to see her distorted reflection in the bronze plate of the knocker. Ha. She must be an awful sight. Well, she could do nothing further to help it.

Elizabeth blushed but smiled when the butler allowed her into the house and led her to the drawing room. Darcy, with his affection for his sister, would not judge her harshly for paying little attention to appearances when caring for her own.

The drawing room was neatly decorated, and the large marble fireplace held a cheery blaze. Vases full of freshly cut flowers perfumed the room; there was a collection of comfortable wingback chairs and deep sofas. Netherfield was the largest house in the neighborhood, and the ceiling of the drawing room rose some twenty feet above them. The walls had a rich rosewood paneling that was varnished to a gleam.

The fineness made Elizabeth yet more aware of her dirtied appearance. She blushed and stood stiff.

Darcy immediately stood, followed a little more slowly by Bingley. Elizabeth curtsied. Darcy stared at her almost wide-eyed, and Elizabeth flushed and brushed at her hair again. He did not look away, and Elizabeth's face went hotter.

Miss Bingley said with a sneer, "My dear Miss Eliza, did you walk this entire way?" She shook her head dismissively. "I assure you, if you had cause to worry for your sister, we would have informed you. There was no need for the trip."

Elizabeth blushed brightly. She knew Miss Bingley despised her for her dirty condition. Being scorned was preferable to the unsettled feeling Darcy gave her. His eyes still had not turned away. Elizabeth said, "I thank you kindly for caring for my sister. Yet, I dearly wish to observe her myself."

Miss Bingley glanced at Mr. Darcy and led Elizabeth from the room. Mr. Bingley followed them, assuring Elizabeth in a rapid tone that he was doing everything possible to care for Miss Bennet, and in fact, if Darcy had not convinced him doctors often caused more harm than benefit, he would have called for a physician from London.

Darcy watched the back of Elizabeth's shapely figure disappear from the doorframe. He let out a gust of air and turned to the window. It was an unseasonably warm day and Elizabeth's sweat had dampened her dress and caused it to cling around her belly and hips. She had somehow placed a smudge of mud against her cheek. Her face had been crimson, from exertion and embarrassment. Her breaths had been fast, and the pants caused her bosom to rhythmically rise and fall.

Darcy had never wanted a woman so intensely.

His body was tense, and he ached with a longing to touch her. She was upstairs. In a bedroom.

Darcy's mouth was parched, and he could not turn around, or else Mr. and Mrs. Hurst would see the effect of his arousal.

He took in several even long breaths. Without looking at the Hursts, Darcy walked to the door and nodded his head very quickly. "It is such a fine day — I believe I shall have a ride."

Darcy's stallion was a reliable horse, though a little ugly. He had been born on the estate, and Darcy had trained the animal since he was young. Today Darcy galloped hard along the country roads about Netherfield, trying to push both himself and the horse to exhaustion. He galloped more than five miles past Meryton and rode through several other villages before he jumped off the horse and sat sweaty and tired next to an oak tree.

He would need to bathe before being seen by Miss Elizabeth when he returned.

After such a walk, she would remain for several hours. When she was taken to bed by a gentleman the first time, her face would take on that rosy hue again. She had brushed at her hair and face nervously, but missed the spot of mud again and again. Darcy's stomach clenched, and his arousal returned. He saw her dimpled smile, and he imagined her pushing her lips against him while smiling so.

Darcy sucked in a long breath and slowly blew it out, the air pushing his lips outwards. He took another breath.

This was not right.

Damn this desperate infatuation. He was very partial to Elizabeth. But he could _not_ marry her.

Her fortune was a mere thousand pounds that would only be released upon the death of her mother. Her family was vulgar and connected to trade. He did not care about that himself — he had experienced too much to ever hold the sins of a person's family against them — but his uncle would never approve.

His duty was to Pemberley, and he needed his uncle's support or a large additional fortune to protect it.

Miss Bingley had enough of a fortune, and she was tolerable. He was going to marry her.

He had flirted with Elizabeth.

Each time they were in company, he had wished to converse with her and make her smile. He could not do that anymore. If he did, he might give her hopes, and he would dishonor himself.

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Jane was delighted to see Elizabeth, and her disappointment when the time came for Elizabeth to leave forced Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley to invite Elizabeth to stay. A servant was sent to Longbourn to inform her family and collect clothes and other necessaries. When the time came for dinner, Elizabeth changed her petticoats and carefully washed her face before she went down.

She had discovered why Darcy had studied her so intensely; a spot of mud had been on her face.

Elizabeth hesitated outside of the drawing room door. She would pretend nothing had happened. It was an absurdity, and she loved such things when they happened to other people. Appearing before _Darcy_ with a smudge of mud on her cheeks would make a delightful anecdote someday.

Elizabeth smiled and settled herself. She held her head level and opened the door. Mr. Darcy's blue eyes immediately turned to her. Elizabeth blushed, the embarrassment returning, and looked at the other occupants of the room.

Everyone was most solicitous to know about Jane's well-being, though Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley's concern held more sincerity than that of Bingley's sisters. However, after the first greetings were done, it was a quiet table.

Mr. Darcy especially was silent, and there was something reticent in his manner that kept Elizabeth from pushing her conversation towards him. She was nervous. It was Charlotte's fault. Before she was completely unselfconscious with Darcy, but now she wondered if he admired her.

Darcy strained to keep from staring at Elizabeth and halfheartedly directed what conversation he made towards Miss Bingley. Normally, Mr. Bingley kept the party lively, but he was oppressed by concern for Jane Bennet.

Darcy realized he was infatuated. Miss Elizabeth was beautiful, sweet, and affectionate. They conversed easily, and she was his feminine ideal. This was a damned inconvenient time to have such a realization.

After the quick meal, Elizabeth claimed a need to return to Jane and left the room.

The moment the door closed, Miss Bingley said, "Miss Elizabeth is a most impertinent and forward girl. And her behavior shows the worst sort of country self-reliance and impropriety. To walk across such a distance, alone."

"I agree," said Mrs. Hurst, "and with her sister not very sick. She should have waited for the carriage. You noted her hems, six inches deep in the mud. And her hair, so blown about by the wind."

Miss Bingley said to Mr. Darcy, "You cannot approve of the display she made of herself."

Elizabeth's affection for her sister was _praiseworthy_. He saw her entering again panting, with her hair falling about.

Bingley said, "Enough of that. Enough. They are both very pleasant and good girls. I will hear nothing against them. I noticed nothing of the sort."

Darcy had noticed the mud on her petticoats. The memory alone aroused him. He could not have imagined that such a sight would give him such a need for a woman.

"You saw the mud, Mr. Darcy." Miss Bingley said, "Your eye is more discerning than Charles's. You must think a lady should keep their appearance neater than _that_."

Bingley laughed. "Caroline, you will not reach Darcy that way. Not at all. You never saw him before he inherited the estate." Bingley grinned at his friend. "I remember when I first saw you. You wore the same tail coat you'd had for four years, but now it was two inches short. Those long arms stuck out, and you appeared to be some country bumpkin who could barely afford to attend university, wearing the coat of an older brother who was much smaller."

"Ha!" Darcy replied, "And you looked like a peacock."

Bingley laughed. "I thought I was doing you a favor, since you looked terribly uncomfortable in that long coat — and I felt terribly uncomfortable having just joined the college the day before. Greeting you was the best thing I ever did. The best thing."

Miss Bingley blinked and tilted her head as her eyes darted between Mr. Bingley and Darcy.

Mr. Hurst raised his wineglass and said, "Hear, hear. You may have looked the eccentric, but you were the making of my brother."

Darcy remembered the day. Bingley's friendly grin had not changed. "You were lanky and thin and had an obvious smell of a cit about you. But, your open friendly manner immediately set me at my ease." Darcy smiled. "I think that year was the happiest of my life. At least until the end…"

The memory of the old family servant arriving to inform him played before Darcy's eyes. He had been at Bingley's apartments, and they had finished fencing and planned to go out for a show. The butler's face had been gray and lined. He had worn a tall black top hat and a black cravat. For a terrible instant Darcy feared something had happened to Georgiana.

And then… then he found that he had still loved his father.

Bingley raised his glass and said with a soft smile, "To happy times and to sad times. And most of all to friendship."


	10. Chapter 10

Elizabeth worried as she sat next to Jane that night and her sister's fever rose. She spent the next hours anxiously wetting her sister's forehead. Happily, several hours after midnight Jane stopped tossing about and her forehead felt almost cool. Elizabeth still did not leave Jane, but without watching her sister as close, Elizabeth fell asleep in the chair next to Jane's bedside. A housemaid sent by Bingley to inquire after Jane's well-being woke Elizabeth in the morning.

She carefully checked her sister's temperature again and with a chirpy smile said to the maid, "Do tell Mr. Bingley that Miss Jane is sleeping well, and the fever is almost gone. Also say Jane will be very glad to hear about his concern when she wakes."

The maid smiled and replied that she was glad to hear that Miss Jane was well.

Once the maid left, Elizabeth stood, stretched her arms wide, rubbed her eyes, and walked to the window. It overlooked Netherfield's lawn, and the morning was bright and cloudless. A slight breeze ruffled the plants which still had leaves. It would be as warm today as it had been yesterday.

Elizabeth stretched and enjoyed the pull on her muscles. She was sore from the manner in which she had slept. If Jane stayed well, she would take a nap herself this afternoon. A maid could sit by Jane for an hour or two while she did so.

A distant door opened and closed, and Mr. Darcy walked out onto the lawn. He was followed by a large handsome spotted dog. Elizabeth smiled as Mr. Darcy rubbed the dog's ears and then threw a stick for the animal to fetch.

Elizabeth pulled on her pelisse and went down the stairs to speak with Mr. Darcy. She found a maid and sent her to attend on Jane and walked into the nipping air.

Darcy smiled when he saw her. "Is your sister doing well?"

"She has a slight fever, but it is low, and she is sleeping easily."

"I am glad to hear it." Darcy peered closely at her. "Are you not tired yourself? I was informed by a servant that you nursed her the entire night."

Elizabeth waved her hand. "I fell asleep a little, here and there — I am well. The sun and fresh air will do me more good than a nap would."

Darcy smiled at her. She glowed with prettiness. The purple bags below her eyes and the bloodshot look transformed her beauty into something that called up tenderness. She was a good, affectionate woman.

The dog padded up to sniff at Elizabeth, and she knelt down and scratched at his ears. Darcy grinned at the picture of her petting the curious hound. "His name is Runner. Bingley purchased him as a pup during the year in Cambridge when we first met."

Elizabeth smiled and grabbed the stick the dog pushed into her hand. She gave it a strong underhand throw. With an eager bark Runner chased after the stick. "He is a fine animal."

Darcy nodded silently. Elizabeth looked up at him from where she knelt and with a dimpled smile asked, "Are you always out and wandering this early?"

She was such a beautiful picture. Her neck curved swan like, and her hair was loose and disorderly. Elizabeth must know he could never marry her. _She_ would not misinterpret their friendship.

"I am. I try to take as many tasks upon me as I can, and an early start allows me to visit more of my tenants. Besides, the world shows so much beauty in these early still hours."

This time Runner gave Darcy the stick. He took it and threw it a fair distance out. It sailed past the dog, who grabbed it from the ground and trotted back.

Elizabeth stood and asked, "Tell me about your lands. It is clear you love them greatly."

"It is a large estate, the land is hillier and rolling. A great deal of forest and wasteland belongs to me. It is also colder than Hertfordshire, possibly there is snow on the ground at present. My study is on the second floor and has a huge set of windows which lets me see out over the land, for miles and miles. It is beautiful, and every time I study the spectacle I remember again that it is my duty to manage and improve the family legacy."

Elizabeth looked intently at Darcy, while they took turns absently throwing the stick for Runner. In her mind's eye she imagined him sitting behind a sturdy desk watching over a beautiful country landscape. "What do you see from that window?"

"It overlooks the park, which has been turned into meadow for special breeding sheep and cattle. I can see in the distance three villages. The roofs were slated in my grandfather's time, and when the park was expanded shortly after my father inherited, a village was moved, and a row of modern brick cottages were built for them."

"That is rather less picturesque than the thatched roofs on my father's estate."

"Yes, but slate is more practical, if it can be afforded. _You_ would not want to replace your roof every decade. And slate is less likely to burn."

Elizabeth laughed. "It is important to be practical. But while improvements are a good, I mourn the _impractical_ when it was picturesque."

"Pemberley itself, the house, is as picturesque as can be imagined. It has a beautiful marble row of columns and a tall portico with gardens planted along the stairs. The gallery faces out from the side which you see when you come up the drive and it has a grand line of windows. I sold the hung paintings, but many of the walls had been painted directly and are still magnificent."

"Did you need to sell a great deal?"

Darcy nodded crisply. "I sold everything which had any value. We went through each room, and I spent three months bothering everyone in the neighborhood to purchase the heavier furniture. All the paintings and wines and jewelry were carted to London and auctioned off." He grinned. "I retired thousands from my debt that way."

"It doesn't bother you to have sold so much that belonged to your family?"

"Not at all. It had been foolish to spend so much collecting _things_ while the estate rotted. I was _happy_ to undo my father's extravagance."

Elizabeth smiled. "I am glad you don't miss it. I cannot imagine living in an empty house though. I do not want near so much as my mother, but some quality furnishings and sentimental objects are necessary to a woman. And books. Do tell me you still have a good library."

"The library is much reduced and the collectible books, early editions and such, are all sold. Does _that_ shock you Miss Elizabeth?"

"Surely you are not so unsentimental. I could never sell a beautiful book."

"I am sentimental. But it isn't books I regret. Someday… if I want to repurchase the books, I shall be able to. If I want more paintings, or statues, or furniture… those are just matters of money, and someday my debts shall be gone." Darcy's eyes grew distant. "What hurt most was the trees. The park had many tall old oaks, and I cut them down and sold them to the Navy. They shall not return to what they were in my lifetime. Even though I received a great deal of money for the trees, had my sacrifice not supported the nation and strengthened the timber wall between us and Napoleon, I could not have — even so, I still see where they once were and —"

Elizabeth laid a hand on Darcy's shoulder and squeezed briefly.

"My family has failed its land. I often — with Georgiana — I wonder if what she did was inevitable. It was the nature of my father to seek what he desired without attention to prudence or right. I fear myself. I fear I someday might become like him."

"You could never behave in a reprehensible manner."

Darcy did not reply. He absently scratched at Runner's ears. "I do not know. I fear it. I swore when I inherited the estate I would restore it. I swore I would protect the land and never behave as my father had."

"And you have not. I know you have not. There is no better, more prudent gentleman that I know. You are dedicated, perhaps too dedicated." If she could resurrect his father, Elizabeth would strangle him. "You are nothing like him! Nothing! — Don't fear that."

"I never understood. How could he… how could he decide having five sets of twins as footmen and three carriages was more important than — so _many_ extravagant parties. Why? What fear or foolishness drove him to nearly destroy our legacy?"

Darcy looked at Elizabeth.

She was seated on the brick wall of a raised planter. Runner pushed the stick into his hand again. Darcy took the rough bark into his hand and absently threw it. He never talked about this anxiety. Not even with Bingley.

"If I cannot understand why he behaved so, how can I be sure I shall not as well?"

"You are too good to become like that. I believe in you. Ask your friends, we see you more clearly than you see yourself. You are principled, capable, noble — Mr. Darcy, you are the best of men. Do not doubt it."

He looked at her. The breeze riffled through her hair; it was in a messy bun and some of the locks had fallen free.

"I am not perfect. I am tempted — but, if I give in once, mayhap I shall never stop."

"Trust yourself. You must trust yourself — you will not do wrong. _You_ cannot."

"Do you truly believe that?"

"I do — I do entirely."

"Then I shall do the right thing. Even though I am not such a paragon as you claim, your words make me feel more capable."

Her face lit up, the bright dimple in her cheek showed, and her wide grin displayed her slightly crooked white teeth.

A cold breeze kicked up and blew through them. Elizabeth shivered, still smiling. Darcy said, "It is a chilly morning. I can see that you did not sleep well. You should go inside and try to nap. You must care for yourself."

Elizabeth smiled brilliantly. "I will."

Darcy took her hand and kissed the top of her knuckles. He held her hand too long. Elizabeth felt his strong fingers through her glove. At last he let go. They gazed at each other for a long moment before Elizabeth fled to her room.

That afternoon Elizabeth left Jane napping easily and eagerly went down to dinner. Darcy greeted her with a smile. She and he engaged in quick conversations, and Mr. Bingley occasionally added some further words.

In the evening they sat together, and Darcy attempted to work on a letter of business, but Elizabeth interrupted him with questions about the matter he was writing upon. Miss Bingley tried to catch Darcy's attention, but she did not do nearly so well.

As soon as Darcy saw Elizabeth, every thought but her flashing smile and lively conversation fled. Perhaps he should speak less with her, but he did not stop himself. Miss Bingley was obviously annoyed, but Darcy refused to think about that. She had no right to complain about his friendship with Elizabeth. They were not engaged; at least not yet.


	11. Chapter 11

Caroline Bingley wished she could strangle or poison Miss Eliza.

He had been _hers_.

Mr. Darcy hadn't made any promise yet, but he smiled and talked to her and let her use his Christian name without comment. He needed her dowry; he no longer disliked her; he liked the idea of being Bingley's brother-in-law.

Caroline had at _last_ done it.

Then _she_ came.

She strode in like a loose whore, with her sweat drenched dress and muddy skirts. Jane Bennet probably became sick solely to allow her sister to throw herself, like the slattern she was, at Mr. Darcy.

If only the _creature_ could be thrown out. But she couldn't.

Caroline had been educated at a fine institution. She had two countesses among her acquaintances; her dowry was twenty thousand pounds. She would not lose. Her father never lost. He would do anything to win.

At first Caroline decided she would destroy Miss Eliza. Her plan was to pay a footman to hide in Miss Eliza's chamber and run out of it naked in the middle of the night. That would destroy Darcy's admiration for her wild antics.

It would not even be wrong; no doubt Miss Eliza allowed handsome servants to entertain her in secret. A girl who would walk across three miles of mud to display herself to a gentleman would not hesitate at any immorality.

Caroline went so far as to start a conversation with one of the footmen. She would suggest the plan to him if she decided she could trust the man

After three minutes Caroline decided she couldn't.

It was too risky. The servant would be caught and punished horribly, and he would say it was her fault, and Mr. Darcy would believe him. Besides a low person like that would be too frightened to attack a gentlewoman.

No, Caroline needed a different plan.

Her first plan had been inspired by how her father paid a Luddite leader to destroy a rival's machines. Her next was inspired by how he had agreed with a different rival that they would not compete so both could sell their wares at far higher prices.

She had never _really_ disliked Miss Eliza.

Because Caroline had expected to destroy Eliza's reputation, Eliza had five days to flirt with Mr. Darcy before Caroline executed her new scheme. By this time Miss Bennet had recovered far enough that the Bennet sisters planned to leave the next day.

Miss Bennet sat in the drawing room, and she had all of Mr. Bingley's attention. After she got rid of Eliza, Caroline would need to end _that_ relationship as well.

Like always Darcy and Elizabeth perched on their seats and leaned towards each other. They were talking again. They always talked, and Mr. Darcy always smiled at her. Eliza used those bold pretty eyes to keep his attention.

"Miss Eliza," Caroline's heart beat fast as she spoke over her rival's flirting. She had never done anything like this before. "I wish to discuss something with you." Caroline smiled uncertainly at Mr. Darcy and her brother. "Surely you would not mind if us ladies abandoned you for a few minutes."

Darcy looked intrigued, and Eliza shrugged and stood.

The two left the drawing room, and Caroline led Eliza around the corner to make sure their voices could not carry through the door.

Eliza smirked impertinently. "I had no notion we were in each other's confidence. Whatever do you wish to speak about?"

She had planned to carefully talk around the subject before suggesting her bribe to Miss Eliza. However, with her arm almost trembling from sudden tension, Caroline exclaimed, "Your flirting is useless! He will not marry you. He cannot afford to. Why are you uselessly wrecking my position?"

"I have no idea what you mean. I have not been flirting."

Caroline sneered and Eliza blushed.

"You only ruin _my_ hopes, for you have none. It doesn't matter how you bat your eyes and tease him. He shall never marry you. His duty to his land and family legacy matters more to him than you ever shall."

Eliza blanched, but then she said, "He has little liking for you. I do not think he likes me either, but he certainly has no desire to marry you."

"Do _not_ be coy. You've employed every sly, alluring trick you could find to attach him. You know your success. If you cease to encourage him to look elsewhere, he will marry me. Mr. Darcy is desperate to replenish his funds. Marriage to me would help him. Before you came here with the pretense of nursing your sister, I'd _had_ him."

Eliza rolled her eyes. "Really? I doubt that. Mr. Darcy is not foolish enough to tie himself to the likes of _you_."

Caroline ground her teeth. Under her anger her stomach churned with worry that Eliza was right. "I shall offer you a deal. If you immediately absent yourself from Hertfordshire — visit that aunt and uncle in Cheapside you are so fond of — I shall give you five hundred pounds."

Eliza drew back with a repulsed expression.

"It benefits us both. He shall not marry you, so if you insist on pursuing him, you will gain nothing. I am being fair. Do you think you deserve more money? I can pay you seven hundred… No? Nine hundred? I will pay you a thousand — that would double your dowry. Surely you do not wish to blackmail me for more. I can give you a hundred in banknotes tonight and the remainder as a draft against my bank."

Eliza replied with a frozen voice. "I am not for sale."

Without any other word, Eliza walked down the hall and went up the stairs to return to her rooms.

Caroline stared after her, trembling again with unreleased anger and tension. That _horrid,_ slatternly creature. Caroline pounded her hand hard against the paneled wood of the wall. Her hand stung, and the wood cracked.

It was impossible to calm herself. What had gone wrong? Was Eliza so sure she could attach Mr. Darcy that she wasn't concerned about the money? Was she right?

Maybe she should still get a footman to hide in Eliza's room. It would need to be done tonight. But that would mean facing another person and exposing herself. She didn't want to do that.

But this time it would just be a servant.

Caroline turned around and walked back towards the drawing room. When she crossed the corner of the hall, Darcy stood with a grave expression. Caroline startled and jumped an inch. Her hands trembled. "Why, Mr. Darcy" — her voice shook — "did you hope to see me?"

He didn't say anything. Caroline smiled submissively.

At last Darcy spoke. "I heard enough."

He turned around and walked back to the drawing room.

MDVMDVMDV

Darcy sat back down in his armchair and stared at the book on the side table. He had pretended to read it while actually talking to Elizabeth. Bingley's attention was completely on Jane, and Mr. Hurst sat at the card table with a half full decanter of port while he played a game of patience. Mrs. Hurst toyed with her bracelets.

"Hurst, you do not mind if I join you?" Darcy spoke as he pulled a wooden chair to the card table and poured himself an overfull glass of port.

"Not at all. Do you fancy a game of piquet?"

Darcy did not want to think more than he needed to. The liberated feeling he'd felt when he first heard Miss Bingley's attempt to bribe Elizabeth had already turned to depression. He needed her dowry to ensure the safety of Pemberley. He despised the prospect, but he would not flinch away from duty.

He could never marry Elizabeth, no matter how ardent his feelings.

"I would _very_ much like the distraction."

Darcy drew the lower card and dealt. He did an awful job at the game, unable to concentrate. Miss Bingley reentered the room and walked up to stand behind Darcy and lean on his chair. He never should have thought she had the slightest good quality.

Where was Elizabeth? What was she thinking?

He _could not_ marry her.

Darcy ignored Miss Bingley and pretended she wasn't there when she attempted to speak to him. He quickly finished his first glass of port and poured another. And then another.

Did his duty demand he marry Miss Bingley?

Darcy finished the decanter of port and rang for a servant to refill it. He lost several games to Mr. Hurst. At last Elizabeth reentered the room. She blushed at his wild gaze and hurried her sister up, saying it was time for them to head to bed.

The party broke up. Miss Bingley laid her hand on Darcy's arm, and he pushed it away. He was too drunk to inhibit his disgusted response. The alcohol gave him a loose out of control feeling, as though he could do anything.

The Hursts and Caroline left, but Bingley laid his hand on Darcy's shoulder. "You do not look well. What has bothered you tonight? Is it some matter about Georgiana?"

"In a way."

He would never have been able to marry Elizabeth. There was no difference between throwing away a resource worth tens of thousands of pounds — his ability to marry a wealthy girl — and spending that much. He would be like his father if he married a penniless girl to please himself.

He _couldn't_. No, no, no.

But if Georgiana had not fled, he would not need to marry Miss Bingley. Did he need to marry her?

Twenty thousand pounds. He wouldn't be like Father and throw money away to please himself.

Bingley pushed Darcy back into his seat and poured himself and Darcy another glass of port. "Well there's no use mulling it over alone. Tell me what is bothering you."

Darcy shook his head. He couldn't tell Bingley about his uncertainty and what he'd heard Bingley's sister attempt.

"Now, Darcy, you must share something."

"I am worried. Mr. Wickham — Georgiana shall be so unhappy and eventually impoverished."

"It is awful. A miserable situation — Georgie is a sweet girl, and she was too young to understand what a poor decision this shall be."

"Are you not supposed to say something comforting about how it shall work out?"

"That would not comfort you."

"By Jove, I hate this. Thirty thousand more pounds, I must act differently."

Bingley refilled Darcy's glass and drained his own.

"I have no choice. An endless corridor of unpleasant mornings and evenings stretches before me. I shall hate it. I will be even lonelier than ever before — but I must!" Darcy pounded his fist against the card table. The stacked deck jumped an inch and fell back onto the table in disarray.

Bingley laughed. "I am damned glad I was holding my cup. Now don't do anything insane. Besides things are not so bad. It is just money. You don't need to be so lonely, you could marry. I'm thinking of marrying myself."

"You think I should marry?"

"You'd be less miserable. If you don't want to live the way you always have, then _don't_. Listen: I do not tell you to be extravagant, but we both know you could spend far more than you have without being imprudent. I am in no hurry to be paid back — if that _endless_ corridor of mornings bothers you so, you should set aside only a third of your income to reduce your debts instead of two thirds."

"That is the seductive voice my father used. If I flinch from my duty once, no matter how disgusting and unpleasant and vile the task, I might never stick to it again."

Bingley drained his glass. " _What_ are you considering? By Jove, _don't_ tear down the great house and sell if for raw materials. It can't be worth enough. You should rent the manor and live in a cottage on your estate if you are that desperate for a bit more speed in reducing your debts."

Darcy laughed with an edge of hysteria in his voice. He was glad Bingley didn't know what he was considering or that he had just described Bingley's sister as disgusting and vile.

Bingley laughed along with Darcy. The two lapsed into a companionable silence.

Darcy refilled his glass and drank more. He was too befuddled by the alcohol to feel miserable about marrying Miss Bingley. Even though Darcy knew he had already drunk too much, each time he told himself to stop, the impulsive desire for more overrode it.

After all, he was going to marry a woman he despised.

Bingley began to snore.

Darcy stood so he could wake Bingley up. He shook him considerably harder than he meant to because his hands were unsteady.

"Ouch." Bingley blinked at Darcy. "I shouldn't have fallen asleep on you, but you could've been gentler."

"Bingley, go to bed."

"No. You need the company. You are melancholy — eventually you'll admit what is bothering you and then you shall feel better."

"I assure you I will not. I need to be alone on this matter — you cannot help me. Besides, you will fall asleep again in ten minutes' time."

In the end Darcy half dragged Bingley out of the room and pushed him up the stairs. Darcy left the drawing room and stumbled into Bingley's sparse library. The air was cold, but the fire had been banked so Darcy could easily feed it back into a roar. There was a self-conscious deliberation to Darcy's movements as he stirred the fire up and added wood to it. It was stupid to manage a fire while as intoxicated as he was.

When the fire was cheerfully blazing Darcy tossed an additional log in for good measure and dizzily dropped himself into an armchair.

Damn, damn, damn.

He would keep a hawk's eye on every behavior of Miss Bingley after they married. He could never trust her to not try to cheat and steal and destroy his efforts.

Maybe it would be foolish to marry her.

Maybe the self-indulgent part of his mind which didn't give a tuppence about duty and right and which was just like his father should _silence itself_. He had decided to marry her. It would be irresponsible to throw away her dowry. He _would_ marry her.

The room spun round Darcy.

He was becoming drunker even though he had stopped drinking a half hour ago. His stomach heaved, and when Darcy brushed his hand along his cheeks he could barely feel anything. Darcy closed his eyes and took deep breaths.

Soft footsteps sounded in the hallway and the handle of the library door was rattled from the outside.

 _Dear Lord, please don't let it be Miss Bingley_.

The door opened. For a brief moment Darcy saw Elizabeth Bennet's rounded cheeks and dark eyebrows shadowed by the yellow light of her candle. She gave a small shriek of surprise and jostled her candle, putting it out.

"Mr. Darcy, you startled me!" She laughed warmly.

Darcy fumbled his way up and stood, leaning heavily on the arm rest of his chair. The light from the fire danced in small circles leaving a blurred image. Elizabeth was a dim shape barely visible in the gloom of the hallway. Darcy tried to behave as soberly as he could. He took a careful step away from the chair and waved exaggeratedly to ask her to enter. "Please, Miss Elizabeth, I cannot see you in that light."

Elizabeth knew it was improper to join him at this hour, and from his manner she saw he was quite deep in his cups. She could not resist the temptation. Elizabeth blushed with embarrassment and looked away from Darcy as she stepped into the room. Her flannel nightgown and heavy blue woolen robe were not precisely immodest, but she shouldn't converse with Darcy dressed this way.

She made an amused face and displayed a red cheeked smile. She would not let him intimidate her, though he were in his coat and tails, with that very white cravat, and she in her nightclothes.

His intense stare, the way he focused on her, unnerved Elizabeth. She felt flushed and warm all over. This was _most_ improper. It was the most daring thing she had ever done. And he was not sober.

She'd realized after Miss Bingley tried to bribe her to leave that she half loved Mr. Darcy. He was clever and passionate and kind. Perhaps it _was_ hopeless, after all he _had_ only found her person tolerable, but now they were good friends. There must be _some_ possibility he could come to love her.

When Elizabeth stepped closer and smiled, Darcy knew he had never seen anything so beautiful as Elizabeth. Her brown hair was let out in a braid, the fire glinted off her pretty eyes, and her blue robe clung around her so the curve of her bosom stood out. Darcy's mouth was parched. His wine befuddled brain desired to reach out and brush his hand along the curve of her hip and stomach.

Elizabeth's mouth was slightly open, and her wide eyes locked on him. She appeared to be caught in a hypnosis. Darcy knew too much of his mood appeared in his manner. He ought to send her away and go to bed himself.

She spoke in a breathy whisper, "I could not sleep; I wanted for a book to distract myself."

Darcy made no reply, and his eyes hung on her, as though he wished to permanently imprint her face and form into his brain. Was this a gaze of admiration? Elizabeth hoped her desire for him was shared.

Drawn, as though Darcy was a magnet and she iron, Elizabeth helplessly shuffled her feet in tiny steps closer to Darcy. His white forehead gleamed in the flickering light, and his intense blue eyes pierced her. Jittery jolts wrapped around her body.

"You're beautiful. The most beautiful…"

At Darcy's words everything became more intense. Elizabeth could feel everything; her mouth was dry; she watched and waited with a desperate intensity, concentrating on every sensation. Darcy stepped forward till he was very close to her. He raised his hand. He moved it slowly, so very slowly. Every nerve was tense with anticipation; he barely stroked his finger along her cheek.

Elizabeth leaned towards Darcy pushing her face against his hand. Mesmerized by the tender look in his eyes, she hoped this moment would never end. Darcy appeared entranced; his touch sent tingles through Elizabeth's body; a pleasant yet unnameable sensation tightened in her stomach and lower.

The moment possessed a dreamlike intensity for Darcy; Elizabeth did not move but her lips parted, and she panted swiftly. His finger continued to stroke the impossibly soft silk of her skin, and his heart thudded in his breast. Darcy gazed into her eyes. He saw permission in them.

He needed more.

Darcy cupped her cheek with his hand and stepped close to lay his lips on hers.

Butterflies fluttered through Elizabeth's body. She tasted port and something peculiarly like Darcy on his lips. In her stomach a bird hopelessly flapped trying to escape. She floated, and she felt impossibly heavy. They stepped so close together that her breasts and stomach rubbed against his clothes. Darcy's hand kept her head in place, and Elizabeth's eyes closed as she gave herself up to the sensation.

The taste of alcohol on his breath brought Elizabeth to her senses. Darcy was not himself. She was behaving in a shocking and immoral manner. She would sin if she continued. She wanted to stay against him like this forever. It hurt in her chest, as though something had been torn, when Elizabeth pushed herself away from Darcy and stumbled back.

Her cheeks were red; Elizabeth placed her palms against them and exclaimed, "This has been — that was —" Elizabeth's voice choked — it had been too beautiful for words. He did not say anything. It had been the most intensely beautiful moment of her life. "I must go."

She walked backwards, unable to look away from where he stood. He still held the hand which had cupped her cheek in the air. His lips were pale red. The sight of them hypnotized her. His eyes followed her. Elizabeth's hands ached to run through his wild hair, and she desired to press his lips against hers again, this time harder. She saw how a well-meaning girl could abandon morality and give herself over to a man.

She had reached the door when Darcy cried out, "Wait, Elizabeth." The desperate emotion in Darcy's voice stopped Elizabeth. She had moved so slowly because she hoped he would speak.

"I should not have kissed you. I know. I know. But I feel profounder melancholy than I have ever before; your presence — Elizabeth, your presence — I beg you: stay, talk with me a little."

Darcy's thoughts were muddled, and he was terrified she would leave him to himself. She froze, her delicate features fixed on him, the belt of her robe was tied around her waist. Her figure was a slender hourglass. At last she nodded, her brown hair waving around her small head.

Elizabeth walked back into the room but kept a sofa between them. "You are overwrought and shall remember when sober that you dislike my person." Elizabeth laid her tiny fine boned hand on the top of the sofa between them. Her expressive eyes never left his face.

The alcohol overcame Darcy's natural reticence. "Dislike your person? Nay, never — never say _that_! You are the most beautiful, and lovely, and adorable creature my eyes have ever laid eyes upon. It is not merely your beauty, your voice sings to me — like Odysseus I am lashed to a mast, and I struggle desperately to escape, so I can run to your presence and listen to your laughter and voice forever more. But, alas, the ropes which I asked to be bound with are too tight. That happiness, never shall it be mine."

Despite how her heart thudded from their kiss and the way the dancing hollow feeling in her stomach grew at his impassioned words, Elizabeth giggled and smiled with arch amusement at Darcy's speech. "Why, I had no idea you had such words in you. You do have skill at poetry, but the bottle is required for it to show. _In vino_ _poetas."_

Elizabeth's smile caused bright explosions in Darcy's brain. "Nay — it is not the wine, but your fond presence. It is your beauty which authors my intoxication. It was you — you, Elizabeth — who the Bard spoke of when he said 'if I could write the beauty of your eyes, and in fresh numbers number all your graces, the age to come would say 'this poet lies; such heavenly touches ne'er touched earthly faces.' — You smile, Elizabeth, but it is true."

"I thought you did not like my appearance. I had reason to believe, you found me 'merely tolerable'."

"I apologized for that! I said I did not mean it."

The contrast between Darcy's flights of fancy and the sudden boyish frustration on his face made Elizabeth laugh. "You had been caught and knew it. It would've been quite boorish not to apologize. I discounted every kind word you said about my appearance then."

Darcy stepped next to the couch Elizabeth hid behind. She did not back away. He laid his hand on hers. "Do not discount this: Elizabeth, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen — your face and smile — that pretty delightful arch smile, that twist in your lips where you pull the right a little higher, and it creates a dimple below those freckles on your cheek. That smile has haunted me since first I saw it."

Elizabeth barely breathed. "Why then did you say I was tolerable but not handsome?"

Darcy flushed with shame. "I had hardly seen you and was ill tempered that evening. It was abominable of me. Those words hurt you. I am often foolishly backward in company. Yet, believe me, since first you smiled at me, I have been most tempted and bewitched by you."

Elizabeth gripped the sofa between them, glad for its barrier. Darcy's hand still covered hers. She panted and moistened her lips. She felt a swell of happiness work its way into a broad smile. "Why, Mr. Darcy, I always believed poetry to be the enemy of love, but I do think I like you when you speak in this manner."

At Elizabeth's words and smile, Darcy knew the situation had careened out of control.

He had never held the reins of his own emotions.

Darcy covered his eyes and groaned. "No, truly I am drunk, and you ought not take seriously anything I say. For on the morrow, I must ask Miss Bingley to marry me."

Elizabeth felt kicked. Her hand ached to be covered by his again. Miss Bingley's insults returned to Elizabeth's mind. He was rejecting her again, like he had the first night. Tears swam in Elizabeth's eyes, and she looked away from Darcy to brush them away furiously.

Elizabeth cried out, "How dare you! How dare you kiss me and then make love to me with your words and eyes when you intend to marry another. You have not acted the gentleman."

Darcy removed the arm which covered his face. The pain in his eyes made it impossible for Elizabeth to rage at him. "I have not — I know. I ought never drink again. I have behaved most wrongly towards you — I wish I never touched you, never looked at you, never — Elizabeth, I have no choice. I must. I must marry Miss Bingley."

"Why? You care not a fig for her! I cannot believe you are a man who cares for nothing but the wealth a girl might bring you."

"I have no choice — the debts attached to my family home and name must be paid. I have been burdened all my life by my father's extravagance, and now my sister's elopement has forced me to borrow thirty thousand more. Do not think I dress this way out of preference; do not think I travel between London in Derbyshire by post out of preference; do not think I ever would have borrowed from my friend Bingley had I any choice. But I owe some ninety thousand pounds and cannot ignore any path to reduce that debt."

Ninety thousand pounds!

She had always heard his debts were vast. Ninety thousand seemed an unimaginably vast and endless sum to Elizabeth. Her knees went weak, and she stumbled around to sit heavily on the couch. She couldn't even tell him again to ignore his debts. It was too great a sum. Everything he spoke had always been about duty.

Darcy backed away, now it was he who kept the distance.

"Oh."

Darcy wobbled into the armchair across from her. Elizabeth made a piteous whine, and she looked at him with heavy eyes.

Darcy waved his hand in a large circle. "So you see — you see my situation. There is no choice, I have no choice. I must marry for a large dowry."

Elizabeth began to cry. Darcy's stomach clenched, and he longed to reach out his hands and comfort her. But he had sobered enough to know that would be terribly stupid. Darcy gripped his armchair and kept still.

Elizabeth hurt because of his fate. The enormity of Darcy's debt erased Elizabeth's resentment. He was the best man she knew, and his life was irretrievably ruined by the misbehavior of his closest relations. He only wished to be a _good_ gentleman. He only wished to meet obligations he had no part in creating.

She cried. He would marry Miss Bingley. There was no sense of jealousy, just unhappiness. Darcy would be unhappy with that _horrid_ woman. She saw it every day in her own father's marriage. A marriage between two whose minds were so different was doomed to misery.

"You can't marry _her_! She shall drive you to distraction. She is not right for you. She understands nothing of your mind or of your soul. I can see your heart — your soul. She is vicious and immoral. She offered to pay me a thousand pounds if I left Hertfordshire to avoid you."

"I know. I heard her. I know I shall be unhappy. That matters not. I do not seek my own happiness; it is not my place to do so. My duty towards my family and the future demands I do not act to please myself."

"Then be _prudent_. Your present encumbrances might be relieved, but you cannot trust _her_. Whatever she says now, she would spend and spend. Your duty does not point towards _her_. Any woman would be delighted if you showed them attention. Even though — I understand. Ninety thousand pounds. You cannot marry _me_ , but you can find some woman besides Caroline Bingley with money enough."

Darcy blinked at Elizabeth, suddenly unsure. Her words always made sense to him, but he was not sure if it was infatuation or wisdom. He did not want to seize an excuse to avoid his duty.

"Mr. Darcy — your heir, the boy who shall carry on that family legacy. Caroline Bingley would be no fit mother for him."

"Mayhap you are right."

"Promise me. Make a promise not to marry her."

"I promise I shall think on it. I am not such a fool as to make decisions of great import when befuddled by wine and, and — you." Darcy gave her a meaningful stare. Elizabeth blushed to the roots of her hair. Her entire body became warm again.

Darcy watched her; she was red cheeked and beautiful. He longed to again touch her, to pull her tight against him and kiss her. He felt the light headed elation her body would give.

She licked her lips and leaned towards him. Her robe fell open revealing the line of her bosom encased by her thin nightgown. Darcy was frightened he would kiss Elizabeth and perhaps not stop. She was so beautiful. He forced himself to stand and break the spell. "Elizabeth, we must part. I must leave. If someone were to see us together in this manner…"

She nodded. "We must." Neither of them moved.

Darcy seized and squeezed Elizabeth's hand. Then he forced himself to walk to the door and leave.


	12. Chapter 12

Elizabeth rolled back and forth in bed. Memories of Darcy's kiss and thoughts of his debt haunted her fitful dreams. She barely fell asleep after more than an hour, and it seemed as if no time had passed when the maid knocked on her door and woke Elizabeth.

She dressed and met Jane in the hallway. Jane was still wan and slow from her illness, but she appeared far more alert than Elizabeth felt. Elizabeth stumbled bleary eyed down the stairs to the breakfast room. The halls, windows, and rooms seemed changed. As though everything had been removed and replaced with almost identical furniture the night before.

Life was separated into before last night and after. The latticework in the windows was painted white. She had never noticed. The intricate details of the carving in the marble mantelpiece were delicate and beautiful. The food had a rich buttery aroma.

Bingley entered the room a few minutes after them. His clothes were trim and fit tightly about his arms and torso. He was not only a handsome object but also a moving man whose arms could hold and be held. What would Jane feel if she kissed Bingley?

Where was Darcy? He should at least see her off. He was always up early. Where was he?

Bingley grinned and sat with an open posture next to Jane, and he engaged her in conversation. Jane ate with an appetite and did not notice how deeply unsettled Elizabeth was. Bingley's voice was pleading and friendly as he said, "Miss Bennet, you do still look a little unwell — though you are as beautiful as ever — would it not be better if you stayed a few days longer to be sure you are recovered? Please do say you shall stay at least until Tuesday."

Jane smiled at Bingley but resolutely shook her head. "Much as I dearly wish to enjoy your hospitality, I feel too well for such a pretense."

"Yes, but sometimes people become sicker again — only a little sicker, in your case, of course. Enough that it would be best if we sat together and talked all afternoon again, but not so much that you actually feel poorly."

Miss Bingley chirpily engaged Elizabeth in conversation. Her voice and smile became brighter as Elizabeth played with her food and refused to reply.

Elizabeth loathed her: the orange fabric of her dress, the pretty line of her nose, the pitch of her voice. Everything about Caroline Bingley was disgusting.

Where was Darcy?

Damn him. He kissed her, and now he hid from her.

Elizabeth viciously cut at a roll, leaving shredded breadcrumbs on the plate. She slathered the warm bread with butter and forced a large bite down her throat. The food did not settle the unpleasant pulsing in her stomach.

"Lizzy? Are you well?"

Jane's large blue eyes peered at her with concern. Elizabeth replied with her sweetest, most Jane-like smile, "I am entirely well. Only I am so very eager to see our home again."

Jane winced and frowned. "Truly, are you well?"

Not allowing the fake smile to waver, Elizabeth said, "I am very well. Can you not see that I am happy?"

Miss Bingley said with her brightest voice, "You do look very well, Miss Elizabeth. I've never seen you looking so well."

Her eyes appeared vicious and rat like. She was an eager clawing creature. Mr. Darcy would not, could not. Even if he must marry money, he should find _any_ other woman. Not _her._

The blasted rake had kissed her and planned to hide in his room till she left. Maybe he deserved to marry Miss Bingley.

He had been so unhappy. His eyes had been helpless when he talked about his debts and Miss Bingley. His angular jaw framed by the flickering firelight. His lips pressed against hers. Her drawing her hand through his hair briefly. The silky feel.

Jane asked Mr. Bingley, "Where is Mr. Darcy? He is usually up long before breakfast. I hope he is well."

Elizabeth focused on Bingley's response.

"I told his man not to wake him. We were up late together and he" — Bingley blushed and waved his hand side to side — "he is unhappy about his sister. It… it can do a man well to drink with a friend — on occasion. He stayed awake later than I, and when I dozed off, he forced me to my chambers."

Elizabeth blushed, imagining walking into the library with both of them there while in her nightgown and robe.

Bingley finished, "He will be most distressed that he has missed your parting. Perhaps, Miss Bennet, if you were to stay a few hours further, you could take leave from him properly."

Elizabeth frowned at herself. She had been foolish to assume Darcy was not at breakfast because he wished to avoid her. He was no coward.

Jane looked at her, with a question in her glance. Elizabeth felt anxious. She shook her head to indicate they would leave as planned. She would not throw herself into Darcy's way. If he wished to speak to her, he could seek her out himself. She would not act like a lovesick girl.

Elizabeth spent the next half-hour alternatively hoping for a sight of Darcy and dreading one. There was none. As soon as the carriage had turned round the corner, and they no longer saw Netherfield, Jane said, "Lizzy, what is the matter? What happened between you and Mr. Darcy?"

"Nothing is the matter."

" _Elizabeth_. We both know that is not true."

He liked her enough to kiss her, enough to make her fall in love with him, but he _still_ rejected her.

Would he marry Miss Bingley?

He owed _ninety thousand_. How would he ever pay such a vast sum? Even marrying Miss Bingley would leave him with a vast encumbrance.

Oh, nothing was right, and she wanted to cry. She couldn't tell Jane about the kiss. Not when she wanted it to happen again and again and again. Not when it was so intimate.

"Please, tell me what is the matter. Did he do something to you? I can see you deeply like Mr. Darcy. Did Miss Bingley say something to you when you left the room last night? She is my friend, but you are rivals, that is clear."

"Jane, I don't want to talk about it. I don't. I don't. I _don't_. No matter how many times you ask me, _I am fine_. When we return home, I _beg_ you, do not let Mama see I am unhappy."

MDVMDVMDV

Darcy woke and looked out his window. The sun was far up in the sky. He felt sick and clutched his head.

Elizabeth must be gone. The Bennet sisters had planned to leave early in the morning. She would think he had avoided her on purpose. Why had Judson not awoken him?

Darcy rang for his valet to come. The instant the man entered the room Darcy shouted, "Why was I not woken? Well? You know I expect to be waken promptly at seven if I've not roused myself."

The valet was only a year or two older than Darcy himself, but despite being young he managed a mien of stiff dignity as well as his master did. "Mr. Bingley, sir. He caught me before I entered your room, and requested I let you sleep as you had been up late together the night before."

"I am your employer. Not Bingley."

"Yes, sir." Judson gave Darcy a certain look which combined proper deference with judgment.

Darcy sighed. Of course Judson would leave him to sleep if he thought it was best and had not received explicit instructions to wake him. His valet had been the only servant Darcy kept at Cambridge. They had been together for many years, and Judson was devoted to his interests.

"Are the Miss Bennets gone?"

"They left immediately after breakfast, sir."

Darcy grimaced. He had made a mess of things. It was obvious, now that Elizabeth had pointed it out to him, that Miss Bingley was not the only wealthy girl in England he might convince to marry him. It was his duty to marry an heiress but not _her_.

His uncle would help him find a suitable girl.

Elizabeth. She had saved him from a terrible mistake. He loved her; he wanted to marry her.

He must leave the neighborhood.

It would hurt, like ripping a barbed arrow out of flesh. He didn't want to see Elizabeth again and face the scorn or affection that would be in her eyes. He had to leave, and it would be easiest _now_.

Why had he kissed her?

Darcy felt her soft lips again. Her body pressed against his. The skin of her cheeks. Just the memory brought euphoria.

He had _never_ before lost control of himself the way he did the previous night. He must apologize to Elizabeth. It would be wrong to leave the neighborhood without saying something to her. He also needed to have an uncomfortable conversation with Bingley about his sister.

He had gone horribly wrong somewhere.

When had he become this person? He decided to marry the sister of his best friend, only to abandon her at the last hour before making an offer. He kissed the most perfect woman in the world, toying with her feelings, when he could make no honorable offer to her. He might destroy his closest friendship.

A point pulsated in the front of his head as Darcy stumbled down the stairs.

He would never drink again.

A covered container of eggs and bacon had been kept warm on the stove for him. Darcy piled food onto a plate and set about quickly eating. His stomach settled with the food, and the headache receded.

He disgusted himself.

Bingley entered the room, noted Darcy's expression, and chirpily asked, "Headache?"

Darcy frowned. He forked the last of the eggs into his mouth and quickly chewed and swallowed them. "Bingley do you have your fencing equipment? I left mine in Pemberley as I had not expected to stay long in London."

Bingley grinned. "Exercise to recover from a night of dissipation. Capital idea. I shall not go soft on you."

For the first rounds, Darcy was sluggish. Soon he beat his friend handily. The equipment was not expensive, and it was fine exercise. Darcy's steward was also skilled in the sport, and this allowed Darcy to keep in practice.

Strike. Blow.

The rapid movement and need to focus cleared Darcy's headache. He felt a deep shame over his behavior towards Elizabeth.

A seductive whisper breathed through his mind: _You should marry Elizabeth. You'll never find another so perfect, so beautiful, so wise_.

He could not; he would not. He was not his father.

He had hurt Elizabeth with his abominable behavior. It would be honorable to make her an offer of marriage.

He had rather be a disgrace than make a decision contrary to his character.

Darcy struck Bingley hard.

"A point. You win the round." Bingley laughed. "That bruised."

"You ought to have defended yourself better."

Bingley grinned. "You are in quite a temper this morning. Has the fencing helped your headache? Is your stomach settled? Let me strike you. I'm sure I can unsettle it again."

Darcy laughed and laid the sword aside on a chair. "I am better; the exercise was beneficial."

"Excellent. Pray tell, what bothers you."

Darcy frowned and shook his head. Bingley waved his fencing piece in Darcy's face. "I shall not let you leave the room until you tell me. You've thrown down your sword; I have mine."

Darcy sighed and settled into a wicker chair against the wall. "I need to leave."

Bingley's face fell. "Must you? So soon — and…" Bingley looked away and shrugged. "I thought you wished to keep company with one of the local ladies."

"What!"

Bingley rolled his eyes. "You cannot imagine I have been so lost in the charms of my own Miss Bennet that I missed your longing stares and clever arguments with Miss Elizabeth."

Darcy tilted his head up and closed his eyes. He rubbed his palm over his forehead. "Has everyone seen this?"

"Blast it, Darcy — don't walk away. You like that girl; I daresay, she likes you. Your minds work similarly — she would be the making of your happiness. You are too morose, and with… without Georgiana, you need regular company. For once _you_ should take my advice: marry her."

Darcy did not say anything

"Please, don't let me see you make such a mistake. You won't find another woman who fits you so well. Not with your habits."

"Damn you. I know I would be very happy with Elizabeth. Don't make me feel it more." Darcy's chest was empty and hollow. "It would be contrary to every good sense. Nothing but the rankest selfishness would lead me to marry a penniless girl while my debts are so large. I will not act so. There is some girl with twenty or thirty thousand pounds who I can like quite as much as I do Miss Elizabeth."

Bingley put his own sword down and sat next to Darcy. They were both silent. At last Bingley said, "So, that is how it is to be."

"I am afraid so."

"I never thought you'd be a damned fool."

Darcy shrugged. Bingley was in a happier position. Would he marry Elizabeth's sister? Even though she was penniless, hopefully Miss Bennet and Bingley would make a match of it and be happy. Darcy sighed. What was Bingley going to say when he explained about Miss Bingley?

Bingley suddenly grinned. "I demand you stay at least another week. I planned my ball with the expectation you would be there. It would not be the same without having a tall man to stand about the edges of the room. Since your only reason to leave so quick is a desperate need to prove yourself a fool, I expect you to be here."

Darcy looked sideways at his friend. "You hope another opportunity to dance with Miss Elizabeth might change my mind?"

Bingley shrugged and his eyes twinkled. "It would not bother _me_. However, I suppose it unlikely. No matter — I want your company for as long as possible."

He should not stay. He had kissed Elizabeth. If he did not plan to marry her, he should not taunt her with his presence. He should not tempt himself. Darcy opened his mouth to say he would leave the day after tomorrow. There was a leaden weight in his stomach at the thought of so quickly leaving Elizabeth's presence.

Darcy said, "I would miss your company as well. Another two weeks can do no harm. But I shall leave after the ball."

Bingley brightened. "Excellent — it shall be a fine, fine ball."

"Bingley, your sister… Miss Bingley."

Bingley gave Darcy his full attention.

Darcy felt exquisitely uncomfortable. He had never behaved wrongly like this before. Nausea rose again as he hesitatingly said, "I may have given Miss Bingley some reason to expect an offer from me. However, I… I overheard a conversation between her and Miss Elizabeth. Your sister showed an appalling lack of character — I cannot marry her. It is dishonorable to back away after I gave her so much reason to expect an offer, but I must."

Bingley made a startled exclamation. "Don't be absurd. You and Caroline. No. No one could think it."

Darcy looked at him.

"Good God." Bingley's eyes popped in horror. "You planned to do it. You actually — good God. I can scarce believe it."

Bingley stared agog, and then he slumped and buried his face in his hands. Even if it would destroy his dearest friendship, Darcy could not marry Miss Bingley. It was some time before Bingley spoke, and his words surprised Darcy, "I've failed you as a friend."

"How can you say that? You have always been the best of friends."

"I hardly paid attention to you on this visit. That is clear. I had not realized you had been affected so deeply by Georgiana and by the loss of money. And I'd not realized you were so threatened by my sister's machinations. If I had, I would — oh, I don't know — gotten drunk with you more often."

Awkwardly Darcy touched his friend's shoulder. "Bingley?"

"I knew you and Caroline had become more friendly, but I had no idea — none — that she had convinced you to tie yourself to her. At least you gave up the damn thought — is that what was on your mind when you chose to drink yourself into a stupor last night?"

Darcy nodded.

"I never expected good sense to come from strong drink. You would've been an idiot had you made the attempt. Were you to ask me for a blessing, I would not give it. You worry that you acted dishonorably — set your head at ease. Her family would give an absolute refusal. You need someone who has real affection for you, not my damned sister who would only count the years until she can convince you to spend more freely. She is too much like my father was."

Darcy looked Bingley in the eye and said, "I had feared my mistreatment of your sister might damage our friendship."

"Never. You have always been my true brother."


	13. Chapter 13

A few days later Darcy saddled up his horse to follow Bingley to Longbourn. The excuse was to inquire after Miss Bennet's health.

He wanted to see her.

He needed to apologize and explain himself before he left forever.

After their fencing match, Bingley and his sister had a loud argument. The muffled shouts reached Darcy in his second floor apartment. The result had been that Miss Bingley no longer spoke to Darcy but instead treated him with a cold, offended silence.

Netherfield was far more comfortable without need to talk to her. Darcy was in no hurry to leave. At home there would be endless tasks, none of which would change that he was ninety thousand in debt. He'd meet his uncle near Christmas. Matlock would berate him for giving away thirty thousand pounds, and then they'd go hunting, get drunk, and laugh together. He would tell his uncle he hoped to marry to reduce the debts, and Matlock would arrange introductions to the daughters of his friends.

There would be no one but Mrs. Reynolds who he could talk to at Pemberley.

Darcy and Bingley cantered into Meryton. The houses and shops clustered together with their sloped roofs and brown wooden beams. Colorful signs stood in front of many buildings garishly proclaiming what trade the proprietor was engaged in. It showed the pretty image of an English market town. Darcy idly watched the brown and white façades of old timber framed buildings as he rode through town with Bingley.

There she was.

The Bennet sisters, with the exception of Mary, gathered on the side of the street. Jane and the two youngest sisters spoke to Captain Denny while a gentleman Darcy had never seen attempted to interest Elizabeth.

Despite how she politely paid attention to him and nodded at his words, Darcy perceived Elizabeth was bored from the flat aspect of her face when not forcing a partial smile, and the way she slightly rolled her eyes and smirked when he glanced away. The man was short, rotund, and wore a clerical collar. His slow gestures gave the impression of careful deliberation.

He stood possessively close to Elizabeth. Darcy unconsciously ground his teeth and rode up to them.

Bingley called out as he dismounted. "Miss Bennet! It is most good to see you. We just rode out to call upon you. You look very well. I had worried you might take some injury from your illness. We were bound for Longbourn to inquire after your health."

Jane smiled at Bingley. She made a small curtsy and said in her soft voice, "As you can see I have suffered no ill effects."

Darcy dismounted and glared at the churchman next to Elizabeth. He forced himself to relax. Elizabeth was not his to protect, and she never would be. He needed to remember that.

His eyes turned towards her again. Those brilliant eyes had watched him. Their eyes mingled. There was a question in her look; there was desire in it; and there was hurt in her vivid brown gaze. They looked at each other longer than proper. Darcy recalled himself and hurried closer. The hand on his horse's bridle felt shaky and warm.

"You look — I had hoped to see you, all of you." Darcy bowed his head in the direction of Elizabeth's sisters, and he forced his eyes to look anywhere but at Elizabeth. He knew he had her full attention.

Neither Kitty nor Lydia, whose faces he kept his eyes turned upon, responded. Elizabeth said in a voice infused with false cheer, "We have heard no news out of Netherfield since Jane and I returned to Longbourn — are any announcements of import likely to come?"

Darcy looked at Elizabeth; there was anxiety and affection in her eyes. He hated himself. She had affection for him, and he had — accidentally and then drunkenly — encouraged it. He could not marry her.

"No — Bingley shall throw a ball in a week's time, but… I thought on your words last time we spoke. You spoke rightly, my —" Darcy paused to search out words that might express what he wished to her only. "My scheme would not have suited my purposes."

A smile bloomed over Elizabeth's face. She was happy, and he would need to make her understand that he could not marry her. She must have some hidden hope, especially now that he would not marry Miss Bingley.

That light, it would dim. She would fight to keep tears away. He was the worst sort of person.

Darcy looked away from her face. He kept his eyes on her companion. His face was thick and jowled. Darcy couldn't watch her eyes while he said it. "I shall leave Netherfield following the ball, and once I return to Pemberley, I shall write my uncle to see if he might suggest a… a better scheme for achieving the same end."

Darcy heard Elizabeth rapidly pull in her breath. He looked at her. His horse whinnied as he pulled the animal's head forward with his tense grasp.

Her face was white, but steady. "I expected you would plan something like that." She shaped her lips into a weak mimicry of a smile and added waveringly, "I wish you good luck and happiness in your future scheme."

The two gazed at each other. Her cheeks were pinched and pale. Darcy was disappointed that she did not argue with him or make some claim on his honor.

Elizabeth felt as though a knife had been slowly forced through her breastbone. She would keep her dignity. This was the best possible outcome.

She should be happy.

Her advice had helped him. That should make her happy. At least… he at least would not marry that horrid woman. He would not face _that_ unhappiness.

Be happy.

Mr. Collins grunted and drew their attention to him. Elizabeth spoke in a thin, rapid voice, "Oh, I apologize. Manners — I forgot my manners. Mr. Darcy, allow me to introduce my cousin, Mr. Collins. My cousin, Mr. Collins. Yes, this is my cousin. Let me introduce you." Elizabeth gestured towards Mr. Collins with a fast jerking motion. She was frightened that tears would start, and in front of Mr. Collins. If it was only Mr. Darcy, she would let them fall, he cared for her a little, even if it was not enough.

Darcy inclined his head, and Elizabeth made the formal introduction.

"Mr. Darcy? Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley?" Mr. Collins exclaimed with surprise.

Darcy nodded his head. He tensed and waited for this man to refer to his sister or his debts. "You are the Fitzwilliam Darcy who is the nephew of that most distinguished lady, Lady Catherine de Bourgh — the Mistress of the most sparkling and burnished gem of southern England, Rosings Park?"

Darcy nodded again, a little amused by this description of Lady Catherine. He sounded much as his aunt's steward used to.

"I have the good fortune to have it in my power to inform you that your most dignified aunt and estimable cousin were well on Sunday past when they attended the morning services at Hunsford parish. It is my good fortune for Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings Park to be my patroness. She is, as you know, the most estimable and perfectly condescending woman in England."

Mr. Collins continued for some minutes in a speech filled with an astonishing level of flattery for his patroness, his dear cousin Elizabeth, Darcy's far more admirable cousin Anne, and Darcy's own wellborn personage.

His verbosity normally would annoy Darcy, but now it allowed him to regain his composure. Darcy's eyes helplessly turned to Elizabeth's stiff face again and again. She was frowning like Georgiana did right before she burst into tears. Darcy flinched away but then looked back at her. This was his fault, but the only choice consistent with his character was to seek an heiress.

Darcy turned to his horse and softly patted his shoulder, a little comforted by the warm solidity of the large animal. He barely pretended to pay attention to Mr. Collins, who needed little of that pretense to be satisfied.

Mr. Collins recaptured Darcy's attention when he said, "Your aunt has spoken upon the immoral behavior of your sister at great length. It horrifies me that one so closely connected to her glorious ladyship could act so disgracefully. It is a most disgraceful connection. Most disgraceful. You must feel the stain on Lady Catherine's honor keenly, and the stain on your own honor as well. However, it is my duty, as a clergyman, to remind you that while you ought, of course, never admit Mrs. Wickham to your presence, or even allow her name to be spoken within your hearing, as that would be encouragement to vice and imprudence, Christian charity demands you forgive your sister for her misdeeds against yourself and your family honor."

Darcy's fist clenched around his horse's reins. Ever since Lady Catherine loudly pronounced to Darcy that due to his debts he was no longer a fit husband for Anne, relations between them had been cold.

Though Darcy did not know his quiet cousin well, he and Lord Matlock had thought it a promising idea to follow his aunt's often mentioned plan for them to marry. The value of Anne's estate was greater than his debts. However, until Georgiana eloped, Darcy had come to think the refusal had been fortunate. He did not wish to deal with Lady Catherine as a mother-in-law.

Elizabeth saw Darcy's face grow pained and tense while Mr. Collins spoke of Georgiana. She hated the foolishness of her relative more than ever. It must hurt Darcy so, to hear his sister discussed and insulted in this way.

Elizabeth wanted to change the subject, but Mr. Collins never paused for breath. Darcy sharply spoke over Mr. Collins, "My aunt? My aunt has told you all this? She speaks so openly to you?"

"She has. Your aunt is knowledgeable about all matters. Her condescension is such that she will share her advice to all and sundry. Why, she has thrice used the example of your mismanagement of your sister's education to edify my parishioners. There is none who is more charitable, or who is a greater credit to her exalted rank, than she. She has further complained to me that you do not write to her frequently. If you had showed greater filial feeling and sought her wise advice on how to raise your —"

"Yes, my aunt's family feeling and wisdom are irreproachable. No one shows more Christian charity than _she_." He had no need to listen to this bombastic fool tell him every problem in his life, every failure he had made with his sister, would have been avoided if only he had attended to his Aunt's impertinent demands.

Mr. Collins missed Darcy sarcasm. "She is perfection itself. If you humbly approach her, she will forgive you for your sister's transgressions, and advise you how to manage your present strained situation."

"Yes. I do not doubt she wishes to see me humbled."

Elizabeth saw Darcy was too angry at his own family to be offended by hers. It fit with the impression she had received from Mr. Collins that Lady Catherine would be cruel to her niece and nephew.

Jane stepped up to them with Mr. Bingley. Mr. Denny had continued upon his own business. Jane's clear voice asked, "Mr. Collins, may I introduce you to Mr. Bingley? There is a matter of doctrine I discussed with him a week past I would like to hear your opinion about. We shall walk back to Longbourn, as Mr. Bingley was headed that way to call upon us. Would you travel with us and enlighten us on the path?"

The way Mr. Collins's eyes lit up showed him very pleased at the suggestion. "I am indeed always most willing to enlighten the laity. Most willing. Please describe the issue."

Mr. Bingley began to speak and they drew Mr. Collins away. Jane turned back to smile at Elizabeth, who gave her a grateful look.

Lydia exclaimed, "We only just arrived. You may wish to walk all the way back to Longbourn before talking to anyone, but I must hear my fill of the gossip." Lydia and Kitty ran up to Mrs. Phillips's house and knocked on her door.

Elizabeth involuntarily studied Darcy. He was as handsome as ever. His lean tall form was set off nicely by his riding breeches and the backdrop of his horse. He took her arm and led his horse with his free hand. Elizabeth peeked at him as they strolled silently. Her heart was torn; she hurt because, no matter how prudent and rational his plan to marry an heiress was, he was rejecting her.

Despite his words after he kissed her, she was merely tolerable and not handsome enough to tempt him.

He may not love her, but his presence thrilled her. Little jolts bounced up her arm from where he held it, and it was impossible for Elizabeth to keep herself from glancing at his lips. She wanted to be kissed again.

She wished to speak; he would not be near for long, and she must take advantage while she could. But it would be horribly improper to allude to their last meeting. Elizabeth could not bring herself to do so. But, her sense of injury, and even shame, meant light conversation was impossible.

Darcy at last spoke. Elizabeth looked at him, however, he stared straight ahead, "I must apologize for my behavior in the library, it was ungentlemanly of me, and I heartily regret treating you so."

He regretted kissing her.

Of course he did. Her friendship and affection wasn't enough. She wasn't handsome enough. She felt sick disgust for thinking his kiss had been anything more than a drunken whim, and a flood of tears gathered in her eyes.

 _Don't be silly. Don't be silly._

Darcy saw that her face was gaunt with the skin pulled tight around her forehead. She grasped Darcy's sleeve and looked away from him. She was crying. Darcy spoke without thought, shocking himself, "Miss Elizabeth, if you believe it to be a matter of my honor, I am prepared to make you an offer of marriage."

"No!" She jumped away from Darcy and stared at him aghast. "I do not wish _that_. How dare you treat yourself and me in this manner. I — how could you think I would wish you to hurt yourself over an event you _regret_. How could you think I would wish you to… to marry me out of a cold duty and honor. You would certainly _regret_ that. I don't want you to _regret_ anything."

Elizabeth turned angrily and kept a distance of several feet between them. She walked forward at a stiff and rapid pace. They passed under a bower formed by the bare branches of a grove of oak trees.

The tears streaked down Elizabeth's cheeks till she brushed them away. First, he said their kiss was only a drunken mistake — he said it meant nothing to him and was only a mistake he regretted. Now, he treated her like a husband hunting Miss who cared for nothing but acquiring the man she wished.

Darcy followed her, confused. He'd had no intention of making such an offer. Her rejection of him hurt — and relieved him. Jane, Bingley and Mr. Collins were one hundred feet ahead of them. Their privacy was assured. The air was chilly but not freezing. The road was bordered on one side by hedges and on the other by trees.

Darcy stepped to Elizabeth's side again. She openly cried. Darcy's stomach sank. "Speak to me. Please, Elizabeth, what do you want me to say?"

"I don't regret it. I do not regret it at all. That moment, our kiss, it was the most beautiful — the most beautiful moment I ever experienced." Elizabeth choked. "To know you regret it, to know you wish that kiss, our kiss, had never happened. That is why I cry. You ask what I wish — I wish you had meant to kiss me. I wish it had not been a drunken foolishness you regret. I wish you cared for me. I wish you had meant it when you spoke about my beauty. I had thought… I thought you felt a little real affection for me."

Elizabeth's eyes pled for him to say he loved her. Her face was red and wet with tears. She was so close to him, and her pretty hand waved inches from his chest. He could seize it and bring it to his lips. Her lips were pale with tension. The tears made her cheeks shiny in the morning light. His belly felt the memory of her body pressed against his. He swallowed and fought the desperate desire to pull her in and kiss her again.

They stared into each other's eyes.

Elizabeth smiled, and Darcy felt the world tilt on its side.

"Oh," she exhaled, "you feel it too. You do. I see it. This bond between us is real. It is in your heart also." Elizabeth stepped close; her eyes were on him; she was close. He could smell her sweet breath. She lay a hand upon his chest.

Instinctively Darcy began to lower his head towards hers.

This was wrong — madness.

He would not throw away all hope of marrying an heiress due to the giddy sense of desire and happiness Elizabeth's presence created. He must tear the bond between them apart.

Darcy stepped away and closed his eyes to block out the sight of her. He breathed heavily; his body longed for her. His lips tingled from how they had nearly kissed.

His father. He saw his father reply to his demand for retrenchment. _You would make me abandon every comfort, every friendship, every affection. I will not make myself unhappy for your misnamed prudence and duty_.

He would not be like his father. He would not.

This was the desire of a moment. It would not cast out every thought. He would not throw away the habits of a lifetime for this passion.

He pulled in a deep breath and opened his eyes. His mind was steady.

"I do feel this bond — you are the handsomest, cleverest, kindest woman of my acquaintance. I felt as much as you when we kissed. But it matters not. I shall not forget my duty to my name, to my tenants, and to the future. I shall not. You know my debts; you know my situation."

Elizabeth's heart swooped with happiness at his words of praise — his words of affection. The fact they would always be separate meant nothing next to her happiness at his hopeless attachment. She did understand. That horrid sum of money overshadowed any wishes either had.

"Oh, if only you were not in debt. If only your father had done better — Oh!" Elizabeth gripped Darcy's arm through his coat, "If it were possible, if you were free to act however you wished, would you —"

Elizabeth blushed and looked away, unable to continue. Darcy took her hand and squeezed it, then he placed it on his arm and led them down the road again. Elizabeth looked at him. Darcy had a sad smile, and he said, "I would. Had it been possible, if my position and my character allowed it, I would."

It was impossible to feel unhappy. The moment was painfully bittersweet, like when in a novel the heroine found her father, after seeking him for a long time, only to discover he was dying.

Elizabeth did not grin, but there was more of happiness in her emotions than sadness. They walked in silence. A gust of wind tried to disarrange Elizabeth's curls and forced her to reach her hand up to resettle her bonnet. Her mind was full of the tragedy of it. She exclaimed, viciously biting the words out, "I hate money — I hate the very thought of it."

Darcy smirked in reply. The handsome curve of his lips set Elizabeth's heart beating hard. "Is that not too extreme? To condemn money as such, with no exception, over one situation? Money is, after all, merely a means for facilitating the exchange of goods and labor."

Elizabeth blinked then smiled at Darcy. She leaned her pretty eyes close to his face, "'Tis not too extreme, besides the Holy Book claims it is the root of all evil. To hate that shows great sense."

"The Holy Book says the _love_ of money is the root of evil. Not money itself."

Elizabeth shrugged insouciantly, showing she thought the distinction trivial. Her smile combined with her still red eyes and cheeks were terribly inviting.

They must stop. He needed to stop. He could not banter with her like a friend.

They had reached Longbourn. Jane and Bingley stood in the entryway to the garden exchanging pretty glances while Mr. Collins talked endlessly. Darcy spoke quietly, "I must go."

Elizabeth asked, "Must you?"

Her voice was wistful.

"I must. You know I must. You understand we cannot —"

"You must dance with me. Bingley's ball — you must dance with me. Promise me." Elizabeth's heart was in her eyes. She pled with them for Darcy to give her this at least.

"Elizabeth," he replied, with pain in his voice. Elizabeth's heart leapt at the use of her name. "It would be wrong. With the way things stand between us, it would be wrong. We must part."

"I know we must part — but I care not. We have not parted yet — you owe me. You admit you acted in a most" — Elizabeth smiled at the memory — "un-gentlemanlike manner. I demand a boon in recompense, I demand you dance with me. Your honor demands it." This logic amused Elizabeth, and she smiled more brightly. "Do not be a silly. It is only a dance. And with a woman you now acknowledge to be handsome enough to tempt you. I _am_ handsome enough to tempt you to a dance? Am I not? I shall feel hurt if you do not say I am."

He would regret this.

It was wrong to encourage her, but her pleading smile could not be refused. Darcy bowed elegantly and pulled her hand to his lips. The contact left a tingling sensation on his lips as he spoke, "Miss Elizabeth, might I dance with you during the second set at Mr. Bingley's ball on Tuesday next?"

Darcy felt stupidly cheerful when Elizabeth grinned back, flashing her white teeth happily. "Mr. Darcy, I would be delighted to accept. It would be impossible for a lady to have a finer partner."

 **AN: So a quick semi apology, the updates have been a bit irregular, instead of every other day the way I'd like them to be, mainly because I'm travelling through Southern Europe right now, and while I'm having a lot of fun and getting work on my next books done, I am rather less organized than at home. I update when I remember to and have my computer with me, which isn't always. This is also why I'm not usually leaving regular author notes like I did for my first two books. And why I'm not posting to Archive of Our Own or A Happy Assembly, let me spend a half hour using my girlfriend's computer once uploading all of the doc files to it, and I can just post with fifteen seconds of work, the other sites take a bit more time, at least I think they do.**

 **The other thing I'd like to comment on, is we are getting near the part of the novel where the path of love becomes long and twisted (though it will inevitably reach its happy end soon enough). And the main reason it is twisted is because Darcy makes choices which seriously annoy some readers. So fair warning.**


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Elizabeth did not see Darcy again until the evening of Bingley's ball, and the week passed with heavy rains that forced everyone indoors. Her spirits were agitated and in turmoil, and the impossibility of a long walk to work them off made her difficult to live with.

Her normal habits of novels and poetry could not keep her attention; or a romantic poem held it too well. She was forced to sew which left her mind free to contemplate Darcy.

Elizabeth prepared more carefully for the ball than she ever had before. As the maid fussed over her and Jane's hair, Elizabeth examined herself. The glow in her heart showed on her face. She grinned each time she thought of how Darcy's eyes would pop and follow her once she entered the ballroom.

Her white ball gown had a wide square neck that left a daring expanse of her chest exposed. Elizabeth wore a pretty necklace with an amber cross which disguised the contrast between the tanned skin of her neck and the pale white of her bosom. Her cheeks were red both with natural color and the carefully rubbed in rouge, and she had arranged her hair into a delicate mass of curls entwined with flowers. A few strands of hair had been arranged to fall out of the pattern and over her ears.

She had never been so beautiful.

Elizabeth hoped. Maybe her appearance would conquer his reason as well as his heart.

After the maid left Elizabeth studied Jane's appearance. She had her own glow. The sisters smiled at each other, and Elizabeth embraced Jane carefully. "Bingley will lose his head when his eyes fall upon you. I know he shall."

Jane blushed prettily and did not respond at first. Then she whispered to Elizabeth, "Darcy will too. He will not be able to turn his eyes away. I saw how his manner towards you changed. Perhaps I will be the one who must wish _you_ happiness."

MDVMDVMDV

As the early guests arrived Darcy stomped around the ballroom until Bingley called him over and demanded he stand in the greeting line. Darcy's mind had flopped many times between anticipation and guilt. But the guilt was predominant.

Elizabeth's happy smile once he agreed to dance haunted his dreams and tightened his loins. She was too happy. He must crush her hope, and he must crush his own desire.

Darcy chanted to himself: be friendly but cold. Show no appreciation for her figure and leave her once the dance ends. Leave her forever.

Forever.

The Bennets entered. She was… she was almost too beautiful to look upon. Her dress, her figure, her skin. His eyes clung to her. He looked her form up and down. And his stomach leaped at the promise in her happy smile when their eyes met. Bingley effusively spoke to the Bennets, but Darcy quietly shook their hands. When he touched Elizabeth's glove, he nearly jumped from the jolt of awareness that shot up his arm.

Her smile said: you wish to be distant, but I shall not let you.

While he was quiet, Elizabeth knew as she walked out onto the dance floor with Mr. Collins that Darcy's eyes never left her. The Netherfield ballroom was a tall room with wide windows and marble columns along the sides. It had a mirror for the ceiling and was filled with flickering candles and lights. The light made Darcy's hair gleam.

Mr. Collins stumbled through the steps of the dance and led her the wrong direction near half the time. Elizabeth did not mind. She was too happy. Her feet being stepped upon, the pedantic conversation, the annoyingly possessive manner Mr. Collins showed — none of that mattered.

He watched her. Mr. Darcy watched her. Their eyes would meet from across the crowded room, and Elizabeth's stomach would swoop. After Mr. Collins, _he_ would dance with her.

Darcy stood on the edge of the room, sipping a glass of wine during the dance. The swish and sway of Elizabeth's gown entranced him. Her movement would make the dress wave to the side and display her pretty blue slippers and the neat ankles encased in her white stockings. Their eyes met, again and again. When the dance ended, he wished to immediately walk to her but knew he must not.

He would wait until most of the couples lined up, so as to indicate his reluctance.

The owning manner in which Mr. Collins kept Elizabeth's arm and led her to the table laden with punch and glasses annoyed Darcy. Did that foolish man think to marry his Elizabeth?

A black pit opened underneath Darcy.

If no better offer was coming, it would, from the standpoint of prudence, be a good match. Surely, Elizabeth would not marry such a fool.

Elizabeth saw him watching her, and when their eyes met, she smiled mischievously. Darcy flushed and looked away, then glanced back. She winked at him and nodded her head towards Mr. Collins, who stood too close and ignored their byplay in favor of his speech. Elizabeth mouthed, "Rescue me."

Darcy swallowed what was left in his wine cup and handed it to a passing footman. He walked stiffly to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth was tense with anticipation. She smiled and glowed as Darcy bowed and interrupted Mr. Collins. "I apologize, but Miss Elizabeth is to be my partner for the next."

Darcy took Elizabeth's hand and kissed it. His eyes lingered on the bare skin of her chest and shoulders, and on the swell of her breasts. Elizabeth blushed and felt caressed by his gaze. She wanted him to look. She wanted to belong to him. When he looked up and smiled with a boyish apology, she squeezed his hand.

They walked onto the dance floor.

Elizabeth glowed inside. He was happy, as he should be.

His resistance was silly — she only needed to conquer what was left of his heart for him to realize it. Then he would lean in and say he loved her as much as she loved him. He would kiss her again and again and again. They would be happy together.

She would run his household and manage without enough servants. He would say clever and sweet things, and she would make him laugh and smile every day. He would always possess that happy light in his eyes. They would have children, and he would wrestle and play with his son, their son, who would grow straight and tall.

Darcy's eyes lingered on her figure, and each time he glanced down to look her over she felt an elated tightness. Butterflies played in her stomach. Their eyes mingled again and again.

Elizabeth's beauty absorbed Darcy. Her face was lively and expressive. Her eyes flashed with happiness. She showed so much white skin, from the delicate curve of her neck to the swell of her breasts pushed up by her corset. A pink ribbon pulled tight set them off from below.

The sight exerted a hypnotic pull on his gaze that drew it back repeatedly. It was not politeness, but his need to see the smile in Elizabeth's eyes again and again that kept him from staring. It was her smile that made him hard.

Their conversation died as the magic of the music controlled them. Darcy's attention was focused on Elizabeth. There was no space for speech. Their hands touched, and she would squeeze his hand each time. Then the steps of the dance made them let go. Darcy began to squeeze back.

When the set finished, Darcy and Elizabeth silently walked off the floor. They both smiled. Before either found words for conversation, a very young officer walked up and squeakily claimed Elizabeth for his previously promised dance. Darcy hated the boy's toothy grin and protruding Adam's apple. Elizabeth showed Darcy a pretty curtsy and a resigned smile before being led off. The curve of Elizabeth's backside was beautiful as she walked away.

Elizabeth glowed with happiness as she lined up across from the ensign. Darcy knew her happiness was unrelated to her partner.

Damn, damn, damn.

He had not acted as intended. She faced away from him, and the dark curls were held up by pins. Flowers were woven into her hair. The slender line of her neck pulled Darcy's eyes. With a wrench he turned himself away and stared at the wall.

He hated himself.

Her manner — there was no way Elizabeth was resigned to their parting. He had aroused some expectation in her. Honor demanded he marry her.

Yes, even though he had never wished —that was not true, he had wished for her to love him — even though he had never planned to gain her attachment, it was there. A gentleman ought to take responsibility for his actions. He should not hurt a woman. Elizabeth would be hurt if he left. Even his uncle might agree his honor had become engaged.

His father's image came to Darcy. The way he appeared the day of their argument in his expensive embroidered silk gown. That spectre that haunted him.

His father had pretended the demands of honor excused self-indulgence. He said it would dishonor the house not to gamble with friends and not to keep up enough carriages and liveried footmen and expensive entertainments.

Darcy had made an offer to Elizabeth. If she demanded he marry her as a matter of honor, he would. She had not demanded it, and she never would. Her kindness and affection were such that compulsion of that sort would be an anathema to her. His _duty_ towards her was fulfilled. It was desire that made him wish to marry her.

It had been wrong to kiss Elizabeth.

But he had never intentionally led her on. He must not look at her again. The longer he allowed her to hope his reason could be overcome, the more she would hurt. He was a better man than he had been in Hertfordshire, and he would act better.

Her lips had been so very red as they danced; a few of her curls fell down over her ears. And her eyes — those brown pools filled with happiness and promised affection. Darcy's body ached with the need to turn and look upon her person. When he did not turn, it felt as though he had passed through a terrible struggle.

He wanted to pillow his face against the curve of her neck, he wanted to seize her tight by the arms and press his groin into hers, he wished to brush his fingers across the soft skin of her cheek. She wanted him. She had dressed to please him, to make him look at her. Her body desired his, like his body desperately wished to bury itself in hers.

 _No._

He would not let raw lust lead him astray.

He felt this way merely because it had been so many years since he had known a woman. As a youth he went with his friends to visit women who had set up their business on the edge of the town. It felt good and was what all of his peers did. But after he discovered his father's extravagance…

He had known vaguely that his father kept a mistress since the death of Lady Anne. But when he had studied the account books after the fields around Lambton were sold, he had found out how much his father spent on her. The house he kept her in was large and fully equipped with servants. His father probably spent more than one thousand pounds a year on her maintenance.

Buying women was a habit of his father's.

It was not only a desire to be with a woman. He felt more, far more, for Elizabeth. He had felt lust before, but lust never enveloped him.

It was the affection Elizabeth had for him. And her smiles. The warmth in her smile, a smile that was just there for him. He wanted to kiss her smile and tickle her until she laughed. He wanted to make her affection for him grow through shared pleasure.

He had never felt anything like this. But he would _not_ let mere feelings rule him. He was a man, a rational man. He would conquer this.

Elizabeth realized something had gone awry.

She could see as she danced with her new partner that Darcy stared at the wall with tension in his frame. Eventually, he walked about the dance floor, but his eyes always pointed away from where she was. One time he glanced towards her, but he caught himself and walked in the opposite direction.

Her partner realized that she paid no attention to him. But Elizabeth did not care.

After the dance finished Elizabeth wanted to approach him. But she was frightened by the grimness of Darcy's manner.

Elizabeth stared longingly at him.

Miss Bingley approached her. "I told you he would not marry you. He depends upon his uncle. Lord Matlock would never approve an imprudent marriage. Never. Mr. Darcy could not marry against his wishes."

Elizabeth frowned. Her eyes flicked to Darcy; he was closely examining the design on a candleholder on the opposite end of the room. Miss Bingley smirked at her. The smirk drove away Elizabeth's desire to cry. Elizabeth said with a stiff voice, "I admire his filial piety."

Elizabeth began to walk away, heading towards Mr. Darcy. Miss Bingley seized her wrist and with glittering eyes said, "He must marry an heiress to reduce his debts. Not an ill bred piece of halfpenny baggage."

Elizabeth tried to pull her arm away from Miss Bingley; Miss Bingley squeezed it harder. The other woman hissed into Elizabeth's ear, "This is your fault. You stopped him. He would have done it. I had convinced him to marry me, but you destroyed my every hope — he shall not marry you. He still needs money. I hope to see you weep. I shall drink every ounce of your unhappiness — I shall smile at every tear you shed. You are a worthless, low —"

"Were I you, I too would think on the unhappiness of others. It must be terrible to know there is something _so_ wrong with you, _so_ terrible about your person and mind, that despite his need for the money, despite the desire for a closer connection to Mr. Bingley, despite every prudent consideration, he could not bring himself to marry you. Think on _that_."

Elizabeth ripped her arm away from Miss Bingley. The other woman snarled as Elizabeth walked away, but did not follow. Miss Bingley was right. Darcy's behavior showed he had regained a sense of his own interest. She was half dead inside when she took her next partner's hand and forced herself to smile at him.

For the next hours she did not look often at Darcy, for it hurt too much every time she saw him studiously attending to something in a direction opposite her. He knew she cared. She wanted to throw herself desperately at him, but Miss Bingley was watching, waiting for her to humiliate herself.

Elizabeth still had pride.

After two or three dances, she stood near Mr. Collins and tried to converse with him, so that other gentlemen would be less likely to approach.

Darcy felt trapped. Despite almost never looking at her, he was always aware where Elizabeth was. He hated how she danced with other men, giving them opportunity to touch her hands and watch her body jump up and down with the rapid motions of the dance. She was melancholy. The tiny brief glances he could not stop showed that she moved without vibrancy, almost stumbling through the motions.

There was something empty in the manner in which she allowed her cousin to speak to her. He felt her pain. It was worse because he only looked at her a half-dozen times during the course of the evening. This was his fault.

He would leave Netherfield tomorrow morning. Had he behaved as he ought, he would have left on Tuesday. After dinner he would make his apologies to Bingley and go upstairs. He should go upstairs immediately, without apologizing, so he could avoid looking at her ever again.

That thought made it impossible to leave before dinner. Darcy knew his seat was quite near Elizabeth's, and while he would not allow himself to converse with her, at least he would be able to hear her voice as she spoke to others. It would give him something he could remember in the cold future.

Elizabeth wearily sat next to her mother for dinner. Mr. Collins's conversation had grown to grate on her to the point that she gratefully passed him off to Charlotte for the hour of dinner. The foods were brought in: a dozen types of bird, roasts, a tall pudding in the shape of the castle, unwholesome sugar confections, white soup.

Elizabeth enjoyed none of it. Darcy sat at the same table, less than five feet away. But he refused to meet her eyes. He looked vaguely in the distance or concentrated on his food. Miss Bingley sat at the other end of their table, with her nose high as she quietly talked to her sister. Mr. Bingley sat next to Jane, Elizabeth could smile at them.

Jane was overjoyed. The universe was not entirely dark and empty.

Since he would not look upon her, Elizabeth looked at Darcy and tried to imprint his features on her mind. This might be the last time she saw him. And the night had started so well. She had been so happy for a half hour. Perhaps it had always been destined to end in tears, but couldn't she have had one evening of perfect happiness?

Darcy looked so unhappy.

She felt sick watching the slow manner in which he stirred his soup. He looked at it as though eating was something that ought to be done but which gave no pleasure. Even though he did not look at her once, his attention was upon her.

Could he not look up, look up one time, and smile again?

Elizabeth tightened a fist under the table, driving her fingernails into the palm of her hand and forced herself to sit as straight as possible to control tears.

She had hoped affection could be enough. Affection should be enough. She was a fool. How had she been so stupid?

Mrs. Bennet chattered to Lady Lucas. The conversation turned towards the likelihood that Mr. Bingley would propose to Jane. "Heavens! It is certain to happen — it will be so good to have a daughter settled at Netherfield. So near to me. And with so much money. Mr. Bingley will settle a great deal on her in pin money. And think of the jewels and carriages Jane shall have. And she will throw my other girls in the path of rich men."

During the speech Mr. Darcy's gaze snapped to Mrs. Bennet, and then he looked down again, with a cold frown. With her hawk-like study of Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth saw his awareness of the impropriety of her mother. She felt ashamed. This was the worst evening of her life.

Even if Darcy had the money to marry as he would, he would run away after listening to Mama.

Could not Mrs. Bennet see how much she loved Darcy? Must she be shamed on the unhappiest night of her life?

"Mama, please — Mr. Darcy listens to you. You should not speak so in front of him. I beg you stop."

"I owe him no such civility." Mrs. Bennet looked at Mr. Darcy and said coldly, "He is an impoverished gentleman too arrogant to speak to us, despite his scandalous circumstances. Even if he _is_ the nephew of an earl, I owe him no consideration. None of you would act like his sister did. They say he raised the girl like a daughter after her father's death. I'm shocked a gentleman as good as Mr. Bingley tolerates a friend such as him. I shall have Jane tell Mr. Bingley to distance himself."

Elizabeth wanted to die.

Darcy stared at Mrs. Bennet with a tight jaw. He gripped his spoon with white knuckles. The room was stuffy with the smell of sweat and food. Elizabeth desperately tried to keep from crying. She concentrated on the shape of Darcy's nose.

Her stomach hurt so.

A half choked sob forced its way out of Elizabeth's throat. The only reason she did not flee in shame was because she might never see him again. Elizabeth held her hand over her mouth and nose trying to force back the need to cry.

At last Darcy looked at her, and he smiled at her.

Mrs. Bennet described the dress she hoped to make Jane order for her wedding. Mr. Darcy sharply spoke over her, "Lady Lucas, tell me about your presentation at court. Your husband has told the story, but I would dearly wish to hear how it seemed to you."

The choked, distressed sound from Elizabeth had brought his eyes up at last. Her eyebrows had crumpled together, and she had a red nose. An impassioned warmth uncontrollably tore through his chest and into the nerves and muscles of his face. He had never felt so tender, not even with Georgiana. He had been embarrassed by family. He knew how it felt.

He needed Elizabeth to feel less awful.

As Lady Lucas spoke, Darcy looked at Elizabeth again and smiled at her. He could not stop himself. The dam was gone; he no longer wanted to stop himself. She smiled back at him and wiped away the tears. Her smile was thin.

When Lady Lucas paused in her narrative, Mrs. Bennet spoke, "We've all heard this story — it amazes how some girls ignore their family's wishes when they marry. My daughters —"

Darcy spoke over her again, making no pretense of politeness: "Lady Lucas, I wonder, do you recall the details of the dress you wore for your presentation?"

Anytime Mrs. Bennet began to speak, Darcy interrupted with another question for Lady Lucas. Otherwise, he watched Elizabeth. Her mood steadily improved, and at last she showed a real smile. She was amused by the manner in which he treated her mother. Her lips were delightful. Her eyebrows arched, and her eyes smiled at him.

Elizabeth thought that maybe she would hurt even worse the next day. But the evening was perfect again. It was not that he was handsome, it was not that he was wondrous, it was not that he made her heart skip and beat fast.

She loved him. Wholly and completely.

Her hope from earlier flared as he stayed near her after dinner ended. He must love her as much as she loved him. He could not leave when she loved him so. No doubt was permissible. Not tonight.

Darcy could not even try to leave her side. They talked and talked. They danced once more. She was beautiful and lovely. They could be like this forever. He only needed to marry her.

Miss Bingley stared angrily at them but did not dare to approach. Charlotte Lucas kept Mr. Collins's attention.

The evening neared its end; Elizabeth knew they would part soon. He stood only a foot away from her; his evening coat fit tight, though it was five seasons out of date. The candles burned low and a few of them had gone out. In the dim light his eyes looked wide and deep. She sank into them.

She should speak. She should tell him everything of how she felt. She should argue and beg him to marry her. He would listen. She cared nothing for fortune or future problems. They would be happy; they would find a way to save his estate. She did not need servants or new dresses — affection and companionship was all that mattered. Even with his debts, they would be happy.

She stood so close to him. She could brush her breast against his arm, and lean up and breathe some whisper of love into his ear. She ought to. She ought to do anything that might convince him not to leave.

The two had fallen silent, enjoying the music and each other's closeness. Elizabeth gazed into his eyes and tried to speak but could not. She looked away again; he would reject her. He already had. The strength of her feelings did not matter. It would be best to say nothing.

A proper girl, a moral girl, would not touch him as she wished to. A lady would not beg for a gentleman's attention. It was the place of the man to make his choice, and he had chosen. As soon as he left her presence, his reason would return. He stayed next to her but made no promises. It would be wrong to do more than smile prettily. Elizabeth could not force herself to speak.

The moment passed.

After an evening, a perfect evening, they separated. Darcy and Bingley followed them to the carriage. Darcy kissed her hand goodbye one last time. She smiled at his figure, lit from behind by the torches set up on Netherfield's portico. She loved him. It was the most painfully bittersweet moment in her life.


	15. Chapter 15

Darcy could not sleep. He paced his room.

He ached with longing for Elizabeth. He wanted to kiss her and caress her and place her in his bed. He could be at Longbourn at 7 o'clock. They might be awake that early. He could be in London before noon. He would sit in the archbishop's office and acquire a special license. Then back to Longbourn.

They could marry tomorrow evening.

He would do it.

She would be so happy.

Darcy smiled and smiled as he walked about imagining her joy and surprise when he walked into her drawing room. Tomorrow night his aching need to be impossibly close to her would be relieved when he buried his body in hers. She would hold him and whisper sweet things in his ears. He would control himself so as not to hurt her.

They would breakfast together the next day, laughing and kissing freely. She would make him smile, and he would never be lonely again.

What would Mr. Bennet think? He might dislike the speed Darcy would demand for the marriage. Elizabeth would not object, not when she looked at him with those smoldering eyes. She wanted to consummate their love.

Elizabeth was not yet of age. He needed Mr. Bennet's permission. He knew there were rumors about his impending bankruptcy, and Mr. Bennet might demand Darcy provide papers to prove he had sufficient wealth to support his daughter. The real records were all in Derbyshire, but Mr. Hoare could provide enough documents to prove his income was substantial.

If that was necessary, he would travel to London tomorrow and retrieve the papers. Then they would get an ordinary license and marry at eight in the morning the day after. He could wait that long.

Something was wrong with Darcy's chest. It hurt.

He continued to pace. Was there anything else which could go wrong? He would bring Bingley with him when he spoke to Mr. Bennet. If Bingley vouched for him, Mr. Bennet would believe he had enough money.

What was wrong with his chest? He was going to marry Elizabeth, why did it hurt?

He was not his father.

Oh God _, no_. He had to leave. Tomorrow, he had to leave. _No_. He didn't wish to. There was some jagged tear in his soul.

He would leave Netherfield tomorrow morning. Bingley was to travel to London for a day, and Darcy would go with him. Then he'd take a post carriage in London and travel with it north.

He had toyed with Elizabeth's affections again. He was a sick, disgusting creature. He had destroyed his sister, and he hurt Elizabeth. He was his father's son. A person who harmed those he loved most.

Be friendly but distant. _Ha_! He had been a fool to trust himself.

He must never let himself see her again.

Darcy rested his forehead against the frosted glass of his window.

He had never wanted anything so much. This was different than every other temptation he had faced. Clothes and gambling were not important. Nothing mattered more than Elizabeth. He could marry her, and he would never act imprudently ever again.

It was foolish to treat _marriage_ as solely a matter of financial gain or loss. That was why he'd nearly married Miss Bingley. Elizabeth had saved him from that.

Her eyes would sparkle when she saw him walk into her drawing room. He would smile and beg for an audience. And she would look at him with that sweet gaze.

Life would be happier. Everything would be happier. Even if Matlock cut off his loans, he'd be happy. Forget Pemberley, forget the land, forget everything. Elizabeth was worth it. Everything else could work itself out.

Tomorrow night, after they married by special license, he'd bring her to this room. She would be in that bed, and she would smile at him. Those eyelashes and her smooth skin. Her bosom uncovered.

Darcy felt sick and freezing.

He had decided to leave, and his mind changed itself.

That had never happened to him.

He might not manage to leave Hertfordshire without promising himself. If he let himself sleep, he would wake and no longer remember he was to go to London. He'd be in her drawing room before he recalled he could not marry her, and then it would be too late.

Oh, God.

Darcy was scared. He was a rational creature. He was not his father. He could control himself. He would control himself.

He could not let himself sleep. He could not wait for Bingley. Darcy pulled out a piece of stationary and wrote a note to Bingley which barely explained anything. He left it on his desk.

Then he dressed himself in riding breeches and a warm overcoat.

It was four am; it would be light enough to ride in another hour. Darcy went down to Bingley's stables, and accidentally woke the stable boy. With his help Darcy saddled and prepared his horse.

The night was cold and dark. Darcy was scared of himself.

For a moment he wasn't sure if he would ride the horse towards Longbourn or Derbyshire. The road to London passed next to Longbourn. Darcy decided he would take a long circuitous path to keep himself far from her home.

At last the first tendrils of light gleamed against the clouds in the east. Darcy smiled at the stable boy and gave him a half shilling.

He set off for Pemberley.


	16. Chapter 16

Elizabeth woke early from a dream where Mr. Darcy strode into the house before breakfast. He proposed. They kissed, and as she held him desperately, Elizabeth awoke.

Elizabeth sat up, her heart beating hard. The light which snuck around her curtains proclaimed that it was an hour past dawn at most. The air in her room made Elizabeth shiver from the cold. She hopped out of bed and quickly grabbed her woolen robe from where it hung. She shoved her feet into her warm furred slippers and left her room.

Last night Elizabeth had been certain he would leave her behind. But now, in the light of morning, her body tingling from her dream, Elizabeth believed he would come and ask her to marry him.

He had been so tender after she had started crying. They had smiled at each other; he kept looking at her.

He wanted her.

Surely he would come.

Elizabeth sat on the red velvet sofa in the drawing room, and she had an easy view of the swinging pendulum clock that said the hour was seven o'clock. She watched the road to Longbourn through the window. When he came up, she would see him.

A bird landed on the window sill and chirped. The light grew, and the sky was cloudless.

Because she did not stir up the fire, Elizabeth was cold despite her warm robe. Some instinct would not let her move. She sat in an inelegant posture with her feet on the sofa and her arms around her legs. Darcy would be surprised when he came to find her the only one awake, and in her nightclothes, like when they had kissed.

Elizabeth waited.

And waited.

The clock let out a tinny bell that proclaimed it was eight. The long arm continued to swing back and forth.

She was stiff and cold, but Elizabeth did not move. The reasoning part of her brain screamed at the idiocy of how she behaved. Mr. Darcy perhaps could not bear to see her cry without trying to comfort her, but when he woke in his chambers she wouldn't be there crying. Instead of her, he would think about his money and his uncle and prudence.

Every flight of birds made her heart leap, because he had startled them riding up the road.

She waited.

As another hour passed and it neared nine o'clock, Elizabeth contemplated the previous night. What had she done wrong? Was Mama right and her wild manner put him off? She should have kissed Darcy in front of everyone. She should have told him again and again that she loved him.

The bell rang for nine o'clock; Elizabeth slumped and began to cry. The rational part of her brain now argued with her emotions. _Maybe he is still asleep, like the day we left Netherfield_. Elizabeth's emotions were not comforted. If he were to come at all, he would already have done so.

The servants were now moving about, but the rest of the family still slept after the long night at Netherfield.

Elizabeth blinked her eyes tiredly and stretched out on the sofa into a more comfortable posture.

She'd fallen into a light doze when Jane shook her awake. Her sister was bright eyed and dressed in a morning dress. "Whatever are you sleeping down here for, Lizzy? Go upstairs before Mama sees you." Jane whispered, " _Mr. Collins is still here_ — I saw him awake."

Elizabeth ran to her room and dressed for the day.

Mr. Darcy certainly would not come. He was probably halfway to London by now.

Once Elizabeth dressed, she went downstairs and joined everyone at breakfast. Mr. Bennet was not present, as he had taken to eating breakfast in the library to avoid Mr. Collins. After she quickly gulped down her rolls, cake and a cup of tea, Elizabeth returned the drawing room. Part of her stubbornly hoped Mr. Darcy would come to call.

Mrs. Bennet and Kitty were also with her when Mr. Collins entered the room and begged that he might have a private audience with Elizabeth.

Mrs. Bennet eagerly agreed to Mr. Collins's request. Elizabeth's mind had focused so strongly on Darcy that she hadn't realized she was the object of Mr. Collins's interest.

It was a sick joke that she _would_ receive an offer of marriage this morning.

Mr. Collins spoke at length. Prompted by a depressed curiosity, Elizabeth did not interrupt him. He dwelt on the advantages of his situation and the value she would gain from coming under the patronage of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Elizabeth fantasized about Mr. Darcy throwing the door to the drawing room open and pulling her into his arms.

Mr. Collins continued his oration: "As to matters of fortune I am completely indifferent. I know you may never have more than the one thousand in the four percents settled upon your mother, and that you shall not receive _that_ until her decease. I assure you no ungenerous reproach will pass my lips once we are married."

 _He_ was indifferent to fortune. So Mr. Collins was superior to Mr. Darcy in _one_ respect. "Mr. Collins, I am honored by your proposal, but I shall not marry you. I will not."

"I do know," Mr. Collins replied with a wave of his hand, "that it is the practice of elegant females to often refuse a man they secretly intend to accept on the first, or even second application so as to increase the love of their suitor through suspense."

Maybe Darcy's alternation between warm and cold behavior was intended to increase her affection through suspense. Was that a common practice among elegant males?

Elizabeth giggled inappropriately. Hysterical tears were near the surface.

Mr. Collins crossed his arms. "Miss Elizabeth, an offer of marriage is not a matter of amusement. You should take this more seriously. I shall tell your estimable mother the happy news."

"I assure you I will not marry you. I will only marry a man who —" Elizabeth's cheeks and eyes were tight, and a lump was in her throat. She would start to sob uncontrollably soon. Elizabeth fled the room and the house.

She found a bench in the woods and curled up on the weathered wood. She sobbed in the cold.

A few minutes later Elizabeth heard her mother's shouts demanding she appear. Elizabeth ignored her.

She didn't have a coat and wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the cold. She was not near cold enough to face Mama. The leaves had fallen, and she sat in a spot the sun shined on through the bare branches. The calls of birds competed with her mother's occasional shrieks from the house.

A laden cart clattered along the road through the village.

Elizabeth looked up at footsteps. Jane walked to Elizabeth's bench holding out her pelisse. Elizabeth smiled and shrugged into the coat before wiping off her face with a handkerchief.

"Lizzy, what's the matter? This isn't like you. Mr. Collins and Mama should not make you cry. Is it Mr. Darcy? He showed you every attention last night."

"He isn't coming. I know he is not. When he was alone he remembered his debts and how I am poor, and he won't come back. If he was going to make an offer, he already would have called."

"Do not be absurd — he loves you. I saw it in how he treated you last night; of course he loves you, anyone would. You are so bold and clever — I am sure he shall come. Perhaps he is asleep, or perhaps he needs to wait a few days to place his affairs in order. Mr. Darcy admires you too much to leave this region without making an offer."

Elizabeth sniffled. "Do you really think so?"

"Of course, I do. Don't be so sad — was that why you slept on the couch? Did you hope he would ride up early in the morning?"

Elizabeth blushed and nodded.

Jane took her sister's hand. "Let's go into town and see if there is any news. It will make you maudlin to wait about here. Besides, we want to avoid Mama until she calms."

The two girls walked through the woods until they reached a road on the far side that let them walk to Meryton without being seen from Longbourn.

Elizabeth said, "I do not think he will. He admires me, but he needs money. He is too committed to clearing his debts. Oh, I should have told him how ardently I love him. Maybe then he would have promised…"

"He saw how you love him. He must have. Do not worry so. Everything will turn out right."

When they entered town, they saw Miss Bingley who stood next to the Bingley's handsome chaise. A team of four dappled horses was attached to the carriage, and all of the footmen and coachmen were gathered around it.

Miss Bingley's eyes lit up when she saw Elizabeth and Jane, and she hurried to speak with them. Miss Bingley wore a coat with a rich fur lining and a deep orange dress. Her expression was like that of a cat batting at a trapped mouse. "Good day, good day. Is it not a good day, Miss Elizabeth? Have you heard the news? Mr. Darcy has left for his estate."

Jane gasped. Elizabeth was settled and cold. Rather than a shock, it was a confirmation. She'd known all along.

"Yes," Miss Bingley studied Elizabeth with a biting intensity. "He fled early this morning before anyone was awake. The stable boy said he waited out with the horse for an hour, and he was gone the instant it was light enough to ride. Methinks it was like Darcy wanted to flee _someone_. There was somebody whose presence he simply could not bear."

Something snapped in Elizabeth. "It was your stench. Caro dear, no one tells you, because they are too polite, but you exude a foul odor." Elizabeth waved a hand in front of her face. "The shock is _not_ that Darcy fled your stench, but that anyone remains in it."

Jane said in a shocked voice, "Lizzy!"

Miss Bingley looked at her with a vicious snarl. Jane had clapped her hand over her mouth and looked at Elizabeth wide eyed.

Elizabeth pointed at Miss Bingley, "She abandoned all pretense of respectability first. She offered me a thousand pounds if I would flee Hertfordshire and not interfere with her design upon Mr. Darcy."

"And you should have taken my money. I _told_ you that you had no hope. And now you have _nothing_. If you had listened to me, you would have the money, and I would have been able to marry him. Be unhappy now. I want to see you cry. Cry for me."

Jane now stared agape at Miss Bingley.

"Caro dear," Elizabeth replied sunnily, " _You_ never had any hopes. You forget the foul stench you exude. Darcy did not need _my_ help to be repulsed by _you_."

If Miss Bingley so desperately wanted her to be unhappy, Elizabeth would throw herself off a cliff before she cried in the presence of her rival.

Miss Bingley growled. "You'll regret this. You _will_." She thrust her fingers in Jane's face. "I shall _destroy_ your mercenary design on my brother. I know you only _pretended_ to be sick so your sister could throw herself at Mr. Darcy like a halfpenny whore. Well, I'll stop my brother from _ever_ returning to this dirty little town. And you shall cry too."

Caroline Bingley strode to her carriage. The footman hurriedly opened the door, and before she entered the carriage, Miss Bingley cried out, "To London. My brother's house. And _fast_."

The carriage hurried away, the compartment bouncing up and down on the springs.

Elizabeth and Jane stared at each other. Jane said, "Heavens, I am not sure Miss Bingley is entirely well."

Elizabeth giggled.

"I was certain she was my friend." Jane shook her head slowly. "You were right; I should not have trusted in Miss Bingley's affection. She is quite enraged with jealousy."

"Oh, Jane. I may have harmed your position with Mr. Bingley. I should not have insulted Miss Bingley in that manner. It was not ladylike or polite — I was viciously angry."

Jane frowned and pulled at her glove. "Oh my, I do hope — even with his sister so set against me, I do hope I shall see Mr. Bingley again."

Her sister worriedly gnawed at her lip, and Elizabeth darted quick glances between Jane and the ground. Had she destroyed her sister's hopes as well as her own? Last night Elizabeth had comforted herself with the belief that at least Jane and Bingley would make a match of it.

Elizabeth said, "If Mr. Bingley does not return, it will be because his sister told him a lie. I shall find him in London and try to speak with him. This is my fault. I will not let my selfish pique destroy your happiness."

Jane grabbed Elizabeth's arm. "Let us return home. Mayhap, Mama has calmed. We have heard enough news in town. Lizzy, it is not your fault. Miss Bingley makes her choices and had decided before we spoke to go to London to discourage her brother — her trunk was attached to the back of the carriage. If Mr. Bingley listens to his sister, it means our affection was not sufficient, and I shall understand. It would be improper to chase after Mr. Bingley if he chooses to withdraw."

"I should have chased Mr. Darcy when I had the chance. I should have told him everything in my heart — how much I need him. Proper and improper are barriers to affection and companionship. I will never again let them stop me."

Mr. Collins had left with Charlotte Lucas when she called while Elizabeth and Jane were in Meryton. Mama, however, had _not_ calmed down, and she yelled at Elizabeth for a full ten minutes about letting Mr. Collins escape.

It was a sullen group that evening. Both Elizabeth and Jane were anxious about Mr. Bingley, and Elizabeth could not stop asking herself what had been so wrong with her that Mr. Darcy left.

It was absurd to think the problem was with her, and Elizabeth knew it. Mr. Darcy loved money more than her; it was that simple. A very ordinary, usual thing.

The memory of Miss Bingley's desire to see her cry kept Elizabeth from turning maudlin. She would not give Miss Bingley the satisfaction.

The next morning Mr. Bingley returned early and asked Jane to marry him.

Everyone was very happy, and Elizabeth did not let herself become envious. Later that day Elizabeth asked about Miss Bingley.

"Caroline? She won't be returning." Bingley rubbed at the back of his neck. "I don't know what all she said to you, but I apologize for it."

Elizabeth smiled at Bingley. "I was insulting in return yesterday."

"You had perfect excuse for it. She is terribly jealous of you. And Darcy — stubborn fool — maybe he'll come around someday, but once he gets an idea in his mind… It is blasted hard to get it out."

Elizabeth felt the hurt again.

"Forgive me." Bingley patted Elizabeth on the shoulder. "I can well imagine how it hurts. I was frightened Jane might refuse me. I should not torment you with talk about the matter. Darcy likes you enormously, but he dislikes doing things to please himself even more. A fool — but Caroline, you asked about her. We argued, and I do not plan to speak to her for at least a year. I'm done supporting her; she can make do with her own fortune. She hates you and Jane, and even if Caroline apologizes, I shall not trust her. Louisa agrees with me completely. She is almost as frustrated with Caroline as I am."

Over the next weeks Elizabeth kept herself busy and mostly happy. It did hurt, but she was not made for misery. Besides, Miss Bingley's sole consolation was that she imagined Elizabeth was wretched. It delighted Elizabeth to know she was wrong.


	17. Chapter 17

Pemberley was big and empty.

Darcy did not like staying within his beloved home. Half the rooms were stripped of furniture, and he was alone. He would sit at evenings with the servants, listening to Mrs. Reynolds talk. He visited the Windhams and his other neighbors far more often than usual, but even with other people he was disconnected and melancholy.

He had won a great victory over himself.

Darcy sometimes fantasized about returning to Hertfordshire and how happy and full the house would seem if Elizabeth was present with him, but he was satisfied with himself. It had been painful and difficult, and he had treated Elizabeth abominably, but in the end his reason forced the lustful beast to obey.

He had proven once again he was a better man than Father.

It was some consolation.

Darcy received news about Georgiana shortly after he returned. A month before Darcy had tried to contact his sister by sending the Wickhams a letter through their bank. A week after Darcy arrived at Pemberley he received Wickham's response:

 _My Dear Brother,_

 _Georgiana is mine. You shall not steal her. I will not let you. I am truly His son at last, and you cannot take that from me. She is happier with me than with you, because she is living with a man who holds George Darcy's memory in the reverence it deserves. Do not seek to contact My wife again._

 _Your Father's True son,_

 _George Wickham_

Damn him.

Despite Darcy's frustration the letter relieved his worry. If Wickham was obsessed with Father's memory, he was unlikely to use Georgiana cruelly.

Darcy wanted to see her, or at least receive a letter. But there was nothing to be done. He did not even know where they lived, and if he did, he would not have a letter placed secretly in Georgiana's hands.

Maybe, he would never see Georgiana again.

Darcy went to Matlock a week before Christmas. The Earl of Matlock was a medium sized man who was a little overweight. He had large bushy sideburns and a full head of grey hair. His face was ruddy and good natured. As soon as Darcy dismounted from his horse his uncle grabbed him in an embrace. "Lad, it is damned good to see you again. Damned good. Did you enjoy your visit with your friend Bingley?"

"Yes."

"Damned good, damned good. Well, you look well. You've not turned maudlin have you? It is a big house to live in alone."

Darcy sighed. "A little perhaps."

"Well. Well. You ought to marry. Perhaps next year. A new dowry would replace what you paid out to _him_." Matlock shook his head. "We will not talk about _them_ though. Are you ready to hunt tomorrow?"

Darcy nodded. He ought to tell his uncle he had decided to marry, so they could make plans. Darcy found it was impossible to speak; it was absurd to feel like he would betray Elizabeth if he courted a woman he could marry. He still felt deep in his soul that he should not betray her so.

Matlock clapped Darcy on the shoulder. "Good. Good. You do look well."

Each morning they went after a deer or a fox or some other animal. It was an active week, and the constant hunting and games and conversations helped Darcy to forget everything else. In the afternoons he fenced with his uncle or Colonel Fitzwilliam after his cousin arrived.

Matlock had been one of the best fencers in England in his prime, and even though Darcy's reflexes and reach were better, at least a fifth of the time the old man would play a clever trick that let him win. It was great fun. Colonel Fitzwilliam and Darcy were nearly evenly matched, though Darcy won five matches for every four his cousin took.

The day after Colonel Fitzwilliam came to the estate, he and Darcy went riding out together. After their ride they took a private room in an inn to eat and let the horses recover before returning.

Once they sat around the roughhewn wooden table with wine and a roast from the kitchen, Colonel Fitzwilliam said, "I keep thinking about Georgiana — poor Georgie" — Colonel Fitzwilliam held Darcy's gaze — "I know you feel guilty, but it was my fault, I recommended _her_ — Mrs. Younge was the General's former mistress, and he was desperate to get a situation for her so she wouldn't tell his wife. He lied to me. I should have known."

Darcy shook his head. "I was her brother; and I interviewed Mrs. Younge after she arrived. And we should have hired an investigator. But your general suggested her. That seemed a good enough reference. If I'd only visited Georgiana at Ramsgate, before she and Wickham left."

"Now that will not do. It is my fault."

Darcy remembered Elizabeth's words. _Don't take more guilt than is your due_. "It is both of our faults, and it is Georgiana's, and my father's, and the Church of Scotland's. It happened, and we can't unmarry them. I doubt Georgiana even wishes that. What is done is done. All that is left is to hope she will not become miserable. Hating ourselves will do Georgiana no good."

To his surprise Darcy realized he believed what he had just said. He worried about Georgiana, and he had failed her, but he no longer felt the guilt which had suffused him for the first months.

Colonel Fitzwilliam slowly chewed a chunk of the roast the inn's waiters had brought. After he swallowed and took a gulp from his wine, he said, "And it also is the General's damn fault too. I'm surprised. I thought you'd be too angry at yourself to think about my guilt."

Darcy shrugged. He listened to Elizabeth when she spoke to him. He was glad he had been able to walk away, but he truly wished she had money enough for him to marry her.

The two ate in silence. Colonel Fitzwilliam asked, "How have you managed yourself? Did you meet any women while staying at your friend's house?" At the way Darcy startled his cousin grinned widely. "You did! You! I can scarce believe me. Tell me about her."

Darcy exhaled and studied the rough cut planks of the inn's table. "There is nothing to tell. She has no dowry worth speaking of, and her connections are mostly to trade. I cannot marry her, so I left."

"Oh." Colonel Fitzwilliam patted Darcy on the shoulder. "It is a pity when fortune prevents a promising attachment."

"I need to marry. I should replace Georgie's dowry, but I can't speak to uncle about it, because I feel like it would be a betrayal of Elizabeth."

"No, no." Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head. "Don't try to marry too soon. Women — women worth marrying — they can tell if you do not love them. You need to let your passion for this penniless girl fade before you can court a different woman. Do not even think of it before near the end of the season next year. When August comes, perhaps you can find a few house parties to attend. I am glad to hear you are thinking of marriage; you need heirs, and a woman will make you less lonely."

Darcy remembered Elizabeth as she appeared when they danced at Netherfield. The bare skin of her chest and neck. Her appealing smile.

Damn.

He wished he had been able to marry her.

Christmas Day came and Darcy missed Georgiana and wished Elizabeth was present. He planned to return to Pemberley on the twenty seventh. The day after Christmas, Matlock pulled Darcy into one of the estate's sitting rooms for a talk.

The servants brought large mugs of beer, and they sat next to the warm roaring fire. Darcy's uncle made his ale with a great deal of hops. Matlock asked, "So, how did you scrape up the money for the gambler?"

Darcy grimaced at the unpleasant memories. "My friend Bingley loaned the bulk of the funds to me."

"Doesn't he plan to purchase an estate soon?"

Darcy shrugged. "It is prudent to have a source of income besides the land. My best alternative at the time was to find a usurer who preyed on gamblers."

"You should have taken my advice. We could have forced Wickham to make a settlement on Georgiana if he wished to get the money quickly. The son of a friend met Wickham a month ago and won three hundred pounds off him at cards. The sum was paid promptly the next morning. It won't take long for Wickham to gamble away all of Georgiana's money, and then they'll try to get something from me and you to live off. And you are soft hearted enough that you'll give it to them."

"Georgie is still my sister."

"Damn it, Darcy, I'm soft hearted enough that _I_ will give her something if it comes to it. But if you had been sensible we could have made him agree for the fortune to be protected. He could not have afforded to take a case through Chancery."

"Oh." Darcy felt suddenly foolish. "That would have been a good scheme. But… you said _nothing_ of any such plan at the time. You said I shouldn't pay at all because they didn't deserve it."

Matlock waved his hand and drank a long pull from his beer. "Yes. Well, I didn't think of my excellent plan until two weeks later — after you wrote to inform me you had paid the money out. We were both damn fools. I was angry, and you were obsessed with giving away that money. You know how I get when angry. I do not think clear. By Jove, why were you so insistent the money be paid out so quickly?"

"I told you. It would be dishonorable to keep the money. It was owed by law, so I would pay it."

"Don't use that pretense with me." Matlock slammed his mug on the wooden table. "You only give a damn about honor when it serves your purposes. You have your own code you live by, and it isn't the Prince Regent's."

Darcy drank from his brown beer and stared into the liquid. "I was worried he would beat or mistreat Georgiana if he didn't receive the money promptly. I wish one of us had thought of your idea to protect the fortune while it was possible."

Matlock exhaled and looked up at the elaborate geometric patterns carved into the roof. "The whole thing is a damned pity. Poor girl. It would be his right to beat her too. Do you have any notion how they are living now?"

"I sent a letter to Georgiana, and Wickham ordered me to not bother his wife. He is still obsessed by Father's memory. I do not believe he will intentionally hurt her. At least not soon."

"Good. I do hope you are right."

Darcy returned to Pemberley. It seemed just as empty as before.

Bingley's news reached Darcy at the end of a productive day. A twenty-year lease held by a large tenant had ended, and Darcy spent the entire day closeted in his study with Mr. Henry and Mr. Harding negotiating the new lease.

The Robertsons had leased land from the Darcy family for more than a century. As the price of wheat had gone up very far in the past few years, the increase Darcy could demand in rent was large, and it took several hours of good natured bargaining before both he and Mr. Robertson were happy. There were large benefits when the same family farmed a piece of land for decades. The question was how to fairly divide the benefits between the landowner and the tenant.

After they had reached an agreement on the new rent and other terms, Darcy walked Mr. Robertson and his son to his door. He did not wish to act like a petty monarch in the way some gentry did. Mr. Henry set off to his office in the nearest market town to have his clerk draft the contract. In a week Darcy and Mr. Robertson would meet again to sign the completed document.

Darcy returned to his study and pulled out an account book that listed how much he earned from each tenant. Darcy settled into his chair and took from a drawer a pencil and a piece of stale bread to rub the old marks away. The entries were in lead so that they could be updated easily. An expensive resin grown in South America was superior to stale bread for removing pencil marks, but not using a rubber was an easy economy. Darcy erased the old lease value from the entry for the Robertsons and wrote in the new annual rent. He then changed the sum in the totals line.

Financially, matters were going well. But, he did not experience the joy of advancing towards his goal the way he used to. He would conquer this. He once felt happy without Elizabeth. He could again. His life was not dull and empty.

Darcy had won against the greatest temptation he had ever faced. He should be elated. But the effort had left him drained instead of invigorated.

Darcy's footman knocked on the door and brought the afternoon post in on a cheap brass tray. The letters were placed on the desk, and Darcy sorted through them. One was in Bingley's hand.

His heart jumped.

Maybe it mentioned Elizabeth. Darcy hurriedly tore the envelope open before he could stop himself from caring.

 _My dear Darcy,_

 _My angel has accepted me. I am to be married! I am so happy. I must have you stand with me. Do promise to return to Hertfordshire. Jane is eager to see you again as well._

 _I shall expect you soon. Send word of your plans, so I can tell the housekeeper when to have your room prepared_

 _C Bingley_

Nothing about Elizabeth.

Did she hate him now, and Bingley did not want to say that? Was she still in love with him, and Bingley thought he would be more likely to change his mind if he was not pushed? Had Bingley been too obsessed with his own happiness to think about him and Elizabeth?

Darcy stared at the note.

His best friend was to marry. Bingley was to marry a sweet, angelically beautiful woman who was perfect for him.

Lucky bastard.

Darcy grinned.

This news needed to be celebrated. Darcy rang the bell, and when Mrs. Reynolds entered the room he said, "We must break open one of those old bottles of champagne that we didn't sell. My friend Bingley is to be married — his fiancée is a fine woman. I met her when I visited him in Hertfordshire."

Mrs. Reynolds clapped her hands. "How delightful! He is such a fine young man. You shall want to travel down again to be with him when he marries, by what date should I have your trunks prepared to leave?"

Darcy froze. He could not go.

He could not do it again. If he saw Elizabeth again, he would not walk away. He could close his eyes and see her features. Her delicate eyebrows, the line of her lips, the way her right cheek dimpled. The longing look in her eyes.

If she looked at him that way again… He would not go. It was too risky.

"Mr. Darcy?"

"I have not decided, yet — bring up the champagne, two bottles. We shall pass it around and let all of the staff have a glass."

Mrs. Reynolds left, and Darcy sat down again and buried his head in his hands. This was Bingley's wedding. He would not miss it, not because he was frightened of a girl. He was being a ninny.

Darcy pulled a piece of paper from one of the drawers of his desk and penned a quick note to Bingley. He would arrive two days before the wedding. At this time of year leaving no time for delays on the road was foolhardy, but he'd not be within a day's journey of _her_ for more time than necessary.

Two weeks after the letter arrived, Darcy set out on the icy roads with his valet. They traveled by post, crowded more often than not by fat merchants' wives and gangly apprentices travelling to London for the first time. The cheap rooms at night were well ventilated with the freezing January air.

He wanted to see her again, but he had no reason to worry about his behavior. His emotions were under good regulation. He'd be polite and distant; his manner would prove that she had no effect on him.


	18. Chapter 18

**AN: The problem with the uploads have been solved. Chapters since 15 are freshly updated. Though it may take 30 minutes before all changes are in effect, so if you check right after I post this, and it isn't right for 15-17, check back in a half hour.**

Elizabeth looked at the people who bumped and crowded against each other in Longbourn's drawing room the day before Jane's wedding. The Bennets were hosting a dinner for much of the neighborhood to commemorate the wedding on the next day. The feast after the wedding was to be held at Netherfield.

Almost everyone but Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy had arrived. Darcy had been expected the day before, but ice on the roads delayed him until past noon today. Elizabeth had seen the message Bingley sent with the footman two hours ago announcing the arrival of his friend.

It would not be long.

Elizabeth spoke with Captain Denny and Mr. Reed. It was petty, but she wanted Darcy to see her happy and with another man when he entered the room.

The timing of Darcy's entrance was perfect. Mr. Reed had just finished a delightful anecdote about embarrassing himself horribly at his club in London, and Elizabeth and Captain Denny were laughing. Flushed with good humor Elizabeth could see Darcy's eyes flash towards her. She tipped her head back and laughed harder and briefly touched Mr. Reed's arm. "You are so very amusing."

Darcy's eyes lingered on the tableau before he forcefully averted his gaze and walked up to Jane to congratulate her.

Though distracted, Elizabeth continued her conversation with Mr. Reed and Captain Denny. She spoke with a high spirit and laughed at every joke either gentleman said, especially the dull ones. Darcy walked around the room and greeted several persons before he settled into a conversation with Charlotte.

He was as handsome as ever.

He stood turned away from her. Though he showed little animation, he was perfectly attentive to Charlotte. His coattails fell in a trim line, and the handsome length of his muscular legs was showed off by his breeches. He had not chosen her; she should not ogle him like an infatuated girl.

Elizabeth laughed again, a false tinny sound, and she tried to pay attention to Mr. Reed and Captain Denny.

After he entered the room — and saw Elizabeth laughing at another man's words — Darcy did not look directly at her again. However, her laughter and teasing voice was never absent from his mind while he congratulated Miss Lucas on her impending marriage.

It was not real. She was forcing the laughter. He could feel her attention was on him.

Miss Lucas was Elizabeth's friend, and he would not immediately approach Elizabeth. Talking to her best friend was the closest to Elizabeth he could let himself approach. Bingley and a throng of well-wishers monopolized Jane. Also… poor Miss Lucas. Being unmarried at twenty-seven must have made her terribly desperate. Desperation had nearly driven him to an equally poor decision.

At last enough time had passed that he could briefly greet Elizabeth without appearing overly solicitous. She wore a pretty evening gown that had a purple tint, and it was less daring than what she had worn at the Netherfield ball. While Captain Denny had the good-humored look of a man enjoying the conversation of a pretty and lively girl, Mr. Reed looked at Elizabeth with a more particular interest.

He did not stray outside the bounds of politeness, but Mr. Reed's eyes glanced down at Elizabeth's bosom too often, and he spoke entirely to her. Nobody — at least nobody else — should look at her that way.

Elizabeth should have worn a high necked day dress with an ugly shawl.

Darcy stepped up to them. Elizabeth flashed him a bright smile with a cocked eyebrow that asked why he had taken so long to approach her. Darcy's stomach squirmed. He was simply greeting a friend.

Mr. Reed said, "Gaining the estate has changed my life completely! There are so many changes! My entire mode of life is different. Most importantly, I now can afford to marry."

Elizabeth laughed even though Mr. Reed had not told a joke. She would not pay Darcy any special attention. He did not deserve it. She touched Mr. Reed's arm again. "A sensible choice, Mr. Reed. A sensible choice to only marry where you can afford — Mr. Darcy would praise your wisdom extravagantly. I think—" Elizabeth gestured excitedly, caught in a sudden passion. "It is more romantic — it is _wiser_ to marry when one becomes attached, whether it is possible to afford or not. But I am merely a woman."

"Irresponsibility often has a romance about it," Darcy replied gravely, "yet, it can never be wise."

"No, no — you are correct, Miss Elizabeth," Mr. Reed cried out, "were I to find a girl I really liked, I would marry her even if she had only the tiniest portion. I would show the sort of wisdom you praise. Yet, I had never, until I settled permanently here in Hertfordshire after my uncle's death, encountered a woman towards whom I had such a strong attachment."

Darcy used his years of self-control to avoid sneering at the man. Of course the nitwitted popinjay eagerly agreed with every damn word from Elizabeth's mouth.

Elizabeth caught Darcy's eye. "As a good Christian, should you not attempt to convince Reed to change his opinions and practice your vaunted wisdom?"

"I have no need to do so, for it is most easy for Mr. Reed _now_ to claim he would've married upon nothing and against the wishes of the uncle he depended upon for his allowance. It gives him a certain daring to loudly claim the importance of affection. That is a stance I believe most ladies find attractive. What I wonder is whether he would have behaved so _wisely_ if put to the test."

"Now, Darcy, I am no hypocrite." Mr. Reed cleared his throat. "I was put to such a test a year before my uncle's death. He had arranged for me to marry a lady whose portion was a full fifteen thousand pounds, and he threatened to reduce my allowance if I refused to marry her. Unfortunately… the lady, her person was..." Mr. Reed stamped his foot and exclaimed, "She was no prettier than my favorite hunting bitch, and while Bess is a fine looking dog I'd not marry her. Pardon my expression, Miss Elizabeth."

Darcy loved the way Elizabeth's face twisted in disgust briefly, and how she turned to him and caught his eye. Elizabeth replied to Mr. Reed in a light tone Darcy recognized as insincere. "You do not offend me. I comprehend your sentiments. It was best you did not marry her; it would not have been a good match. _Your_ peculiar vice is not love of money."

Mr. Darcy refrained from sneering as Mr. Reed preened and thanked Elizabeth for what he imagined was her approval. The bell rang for dinner. Before Mr. Reed could ask her, Darcy peremptorily took Elizabeth's arm to lead her in the procession to the dining room. Darcy caught Elizabeth's eye and, glancing back at Mr. Reed, rolled his eyes. She grinned at him.

Elizabeth and Darcy were seated next to each other, but for a few minutes they remained awkwardly silent. Elizabeth's uncle Mr. Gardiner was on her other side, but he was absorbed with the lady on his left.

Darcy abruptly spoke, "You look well. I'm pleased to see it."

"I know I look well. You have never needed to say it. However, I also know that, no matter how good my looks, I am only tempting. I am not irresistible."

Darcy frowned. She was still hurt.

"I apologize," Elizabeth said quickly, "I vowed no hint about the matter would pass my lips, and none shall again. What must be, must be. It is no use to cry over spilt milk."

Darcy shifted in his chair uneasily. There was nothing he could say.

Changing the subject, Elizabeth smiled and said, "Bingley spoke recently about the mill on your lands and how you dislike it. Now to be contrary I will choose, sight unseen, to declare the mill to be picturesque and an improvement on the landscape. In defense of the statement, as a young girl I found the illustration of Arkwright's first mill in a geography of England to be charming."

"Now that, that is a weighty argument indeed." Darcy smiled, grateful that Elizabeth moved the conversation from unpleasant topics best avoided. "At what age were you when you studied this illustrated geography? And did you often return to that picture, or is this a memory of a single glance that you believe you found picturesque? — I will admit in favor of your case that, as the mill in my park was built by the son of one of Arkwright's partners, it does looks similar. A large red brick building with a profusion of windows and a constant clatter when in use."

"Aha, so you admit you would like it too if it was merely an illustration in a book, and not a noisemaking object which disturbs all the fish and birds."

"In truth, the workers — especially the parish children who the mill owner took on as apprentices — are a greater danger to the quality of my ponds than the sound of the mill. I simply have not the heart to forbid them to fish."

"That is sweet of you. I know fishing is considered by all men one of the great joys of childhood."

"It is." Darcy nodded seriously. "One cannot have a worthwhile childhood without muddying yourself and eating a trout you'd pulled out of the water just an hour past."

The mention of trout caught Mr. Gardiner's attention. "What is that about? Have you convinced Lizzy to talk about fishing?"

Elizabeth laughed. "He is explaining how his ponds have been denuded of game by the hordes of mill children he allows to freely fish on their Sundays."

"Ah, that is very kind." Mr. Gardiner flashed his easy smile. "It is a pity that their depredations have damaged the fishing; I once toured your park, back in your father's day, and I recall a great envy upon seeing the trout leaping from the stream."

"I hardly have the time to fish myself, and I feel I must do anything I can to improve the children's situation. I wish the parish children were not employed on my land at all."

"Oh?" Mr. Gardiner turned his chair towards Darcy and Elizabeth, while Elizabeth pushed hers back a little, so the two gentlemen could easily look at each other. "They had best be employed somewhere. Is the mill using orphaned children dependent upon the parish? The practice of apprenticing parish children to mills is beneficial to all. The children gain habits of industry and usefulness, their support is no longer borne by the ratepayers, and the mill gains a needed source of labor."

"The benefit comes to the ratepayer and the mill owner — but the child? No. The children are packed in rooms together with dozens of others; they are given no opportunity to protect their possessions; they are ill fed and forced to work from sun up till sundown. It breeds disease. The owners habitually care little for safety, and children are by nature careless around dangerous machinery. Accidents that cause death or permanent disability are frequent. As for habits of industry, mayhap there's something to that, but the claim that strenuous labor is necessary to teach such habits is simply an excuse to mistreat and overwork the children."

"That is a harsh indictment. So you have a reformist's bent? Have not laws already been passed sufficient to protect the children?"

"Laws have been passed, but my own experience proves they are yet insufficient." Darcy smiled. "Mr. Gardiner, tell me honestly, do you, in your own line of business, always follow in every respect the spirit and letter of the laws passed to regulate it? Especially when there is no inspector, or you are a friend of the inspector, and the fine is quite small in any case? Do be honest."

Mr. Gardiner nodded and then laughed. "I accept your point. Though I will _not_ be honest on this subject. My impressionable niece is listening to the conversation, and I understand you are a Justice of the Peace."

"Now, I am not so impressionable!" Elizabeth laughed. "It shall not ruin _my_ morals to learn you smuggled from France that Chantilly lace you gave Mama last Christmas."

"I did no such thing." Mr. Gardiner winked at her and Darcy, who both laughed. Mr. Gardiner added, "I do confess some tradesmen ignore laws they find nonsensical or inconvenient when it is safe to do so. Is the enforcement so lax?"

"There is no requirement for the local magistrate to have the premises inspected. It is why I had myself appointed as a JP. The lease on the mill is for a very long term and gives me little control over what goes on in it. However, as a JP I could inspect the premises with my parson and levy fines. However, the fines themselves are nominal, a matter of pounds and shillings when the mill turns over thousands."

"Do mill owners often abuse the situation? I have toured several mills, and at _them_ the children were happy and industrious."

"Accidents are infrequent; you would not expect one to occur during the two hours of your presence. Much of my uncle's fortune came from leasing land and water rights to Arkwright. When I toured those mills as a lad, I saw what you did. The reality of the situation does not become apparent until you live near enough to see how affairs are managed day after day."

"What do you wish done by parliament? Harsher laws? What did _you_ do? Since you think the present fines ineffectual."

"I did not fine him, and he agreed to improve the conditions. I directly hired several women to watch the safety of the children, and _he_ has hired adult labor for the most dangerous tasks, mostly young unmarried women who think mill work is preferable to service. In exchange I have lowered the rent he pays by a fourth, so long as accidents remain infrequent. Also I had an additional hall constructed so the children were less crowded. I do not like it at all. On occasion someone is injured or killed, but when a person past the age of reason freely enters a labor contract, it does not sit on my conscience when an accident occurs the way the death of parish children did."

"So you have no reason to be very unhappy about the situation. After all, people die in accidents all of the time, it is simply part of life."

"I have reason to be unhappy that my income from tearing up my park is substantially less than I expected it to be, because I needed to bribe a manufacturer, so the legal murder of children for profit would not be on my conscience."

"That is a harsh way to describe such accidents."

"It captures the heart of the matter. Describing it otherwise because the death of the children is neither the mill owners goal, nor something he seeks, is sophistry. His negligence causes the death of children who the law has made him guardian."

"I imagine you must oppose the entire practice — I feel less sure myself. Are you truly losing a great deal of money over this?"

"Five or six hundred a year. I only name a number to show that it would be absurd to expect private benevolence to suffice in curbing these abuses. The practice should be entirely outlawed. The only alternative would be to create a national system of inspectors, such as we have to ensure taxes are collected, but if that was paid for out of the manufacturer's taxes, there would be little profit in employing parish children as opposed to the free labor of adults."

"Yes. Yes…" Mr. Gardiner rapidly shook his head side to side. "I hardly know; I hardly know. I have the prejudice of my position in society. I do not wish to see Parliament interfere with private commerce. But then, the disposition of the parish children is not really a matter of _private_ commerce at all. Certainly when the parents of a child are living they have a perfect right to sell their children's labor as they will."

"Perhaps. Rights of contract and property are cornerstones of English liberty. Still… No, I do not approve at all. The parent is the protector of the child, not the master. Children are under guardianship, and if the parent mistreats or neglects the child, the commonwealth should take on the responsibility. An adult has a right to sell their own labor, even into a very dangerous occupation, but I would no more give a parent the right to hire their children out to an unsafe mill than I would give them the right to murder the child directly."

"Murder? Again, you are hyperbolic."

"Yes. Consciously so. Perhaps negligent manslaughter would be a more accurate description than murder. The need for regulations to protect children is no weaker for the substitution."

"Regulations that interfere with a parent's right to manage their children's welfare. Do you not in general approve of parental rights?"

Elizabeth interrupted their conversation. "Mr. Darcy, I think I understand why you think parental rights must sometimes be limited."

Darcy replied, "Yes, _you_ would understand me. I trust that. We have talked about my father. And a parent who lets their child work in such a mill does far worse than simply wasting the family inheritance." Darcy looked at Mr. Gardiner. "So you see, my position on parental rights is a matter of my own prejudice. An entailment is a method of decreeing that a son is not allowed to harm the interests of a grandson. This extremely common practice amongst the gentry exists to protect children from parents. I think it not so strange then to say, when it is a matter of possible maiming or death, that we should collectively do what is needed to protect the children from their parents. We already allow such to be done in the case of property."

"I do not think," Elizabeth said, "That entails are fair to daughters."

Darcy rubbed his hand over his chin. "Perhaps they are not. But then they are also unfair to second sons, and that is a sort of unfairness everyone accepts. Mr. Gardiner, do you still think children's labor should be as freely sold as that of an adult?"

"Maybe. I do not like the idea of laws that interfere with the rights of a parent to determine what is best for their child. It is unnatural. A revolutionary French sort of thought. Perhaps freedom requires the occasional tragedy, and we should not be so soft hearted as to abandon freedom every time there is an unfortunate abuse. If we disallow child labor then Parliament will interfere again and again, with the best of intentions in every case, but eventually we will live in a very different world than our own."

"I do not know if I fear such a future. I approve of the habits of neither my own class, nor yours. The world is not as it ought to be. I am no misanthrope, but I do wish to see a world with better, more disciplined habits. The French tried to throw off every restraint given by religion and hierarchy; I see that as more the natural end of your preference for never interfering with individual rights than my belief morality should be enforced on the manufacturer and parent even when it interferes with the right to form contracts. I believe religion and philosophy stand with me in this matter."

Mr. Gardiner shrugged. "Perhaps. I am less certain about labor by children in mills than I had been. Even if the child is hired with the consent of the parent, it is not the same as on a farm or in a small business where the whole family works in its own interest."

"I certainly do not find anything wrong with a child helping a parent at their work, so long as the work is not highly dangerous." Darcy looked at Elizabeth. "That mill, that picturesque mill which looks a little like Arkwright's first, this is why I dislike it. The building I have grown used too; its management I cannot."

Elizabeth shook her head and frowned. "I admit defeat — I do not think I can convince you to be pleased by your mill." Elizabeth was absorbed by thoughts of the mill children. That sort of kindness was very much in Darcy's character, to act to help poor children when his own debts were so great.

After dinner, Elizabeth and Darcy immediately gravitated towards each other in the drawing room. They sat in a corner, with blue and white tea cups between them on a small rosewood table. Naturally, as they looked at Jane and Bingley smiling together, the conversation turned towards the couple.

Darcy spoke, sipping at his tea, "They make a handsome couple."

"And they are perfect for each other. I like Bingley more every week."

"He is the best of friends. He deserves happiness. I only slightly know Miss Bennet, though. Tell me more of your sister."

"Jane? She is an angel. She always believes the best of everyone. For a long time, I feared someone would take advantage of her sweetness, and I always thought it necessary to protect Jane. Once —" Elizabeth hesitated and stared into her tea and breathed the fragrant odor from the thick brew. The candlelight glinted off the milky surface. Placing cup back down, Elizabeth's eyes shot back to Darcy's. "Did you ever hear my mother tell the story of the man who wrote Jane a sonnet when she was fifteen? Likely you did. She has always been fond of it."

The seriousness of Elizabeth's manner confused Darcy. "I heard something about it. It is fortunate for my friend that the attachment did not ripen."

Elizabeth glanced around the room. All of the other guests were intent on their own conversations. She spoke in a hushed voice which would not carry, "It is my fault it ended so suddenly — I do not think I acted wrongly, but… what I did has still gnawed at me."

"You need not share this story if you think it best unsaid."

"No — I have told no one this, not even Jane, it would please me — I wish you to know it."

At Darcy's nod and intent expression, Elizabeth began, "We were in London visiting my aunt and uncle for a few months, and a man became infatuated with Jane. He was ten years older than her — twenty-five seemed far more aged to me then. He was a boring and shallow man. Jane neither liked nor disliked him, but she was determined to think the best of him. Mama was enthralled by the thought of the match for, while much poorer than Bingley, he had a respectable estate."

Elizabeth looked at her hands. "It was the way his eye lingered on Jane's figure when he thought himself unobserved that made me dislike him. I was sure he only wished to marry Jane due to her beauty. He couldn't understand her goodness and character. Today, Jane — until she met Bingley she discouraged every potential suitor because she did not feel what she ought. But… we were both so young. I… I thought she would do what Mama wished.

"I had servants trail the man — I sold jewels which had been a gift to pay them — and found he kept a mistress on the outskirts of town. He visited her constantly despite courting Jane. He recited his horrid poetry to Jane and left in his carriage and headed straight to that woman. I was only thirteen at the time. I know girls are intended to be delicate and have little understanding of such matters, but Papa never restricted my access to the library. I understood what he did.

"I told myself Jane would not believe me. She would convince herself he had an explanation that absolved him of wrong doing. We were fans of Gothic romances, and I thought Jane would decide that the woman he visited was a secret half-sister — or some similar nonsense. Mama would not care. I knew that. So I made a fake version of Jane's diary. It claimed that she despised him. I left the diary where Mr. Bad Poet would find it. He did not resist the temptation, and after the day he picked it up we never saw him again.

"It was dishonest. I lied and in a manner defamed Jane —" Elizabeth looked at Darcy pleadingly. "I needed to protect Jane, but, still…"

Darcy couldn't speak. She had trusted him with a story she'd never even told Jane. Elizabeth hurriedly added, "The affair may have ended with nothing —I ought to have tried a different method to put the man off — Jane was so confused by his sudden abandonment, and I never could bring myself to tell her why."

"You were still a child — you were brave and caring. That… that is what matters. You are… were perfect. You needed to do something. If I could have protected Georgiana from Wickham by lying…" — Darcy gestured with his head towards where the glowing couple sat surrounded by well-wishers — "The event has proven fortuitous. You are older now, wiser, but your heart has always been what it should be."

"Yes — I know that, but —" Elizabeth laughed shakily. "I have never, not even to my aunt, and certainly not to Jane, spoken of this — I feel easier. Thank you."

"I am glad."

The gentlemen of the party departed not much later with Bingley while the ladies gathered around Jane to laugh and speak with her on her last night as a maiden.

The warm glow her conversation with Darcy gave Elizabeth carried her happily through the next hours. Eventually, she said a last, last good night to Jane and settled on her own bed to await the morning.

She was so happy when she sat next to Darcy. She loved his voice, and she loved the way he held her eyes and listened. It was as though they were perfectly formed for each other — but no matter how connected they felt, tomorrow or the day after he would leave Netherfield and return to his own estates. Then he would marry another.

Elizabeth sobbed quietly.

She had expected he would avoid conversation with her, and perhaps he had planned to. But when he was near, it was so easy to talk.

Elizabeth hugged her pillow to her face and muffled the sounds so no hint of them could reach Jane or any other inhabitant of the house. After tomorrow he would leave again, and she would eventually stop missing him and fall in love with another.

 _You are resigned. Be resigned. You are happy. You accept that he shall not marry you._

MDVMDVMDV

Darcy drank and listened to the gentlemen who had gathered with Bingley at Netherfield. He refused to think about the future; instead, he contemplated how sweet it had been to talk to her. The flash of her eyes and the goodness of her character.

After a half hour of drinking in Netherfield's dining room, a gentleman called out, "I bet I can shoot a damn sight better than any of you."

The tipsy group went outside and took turns making poorly aimed shots at a hastily set up target. The sheet of paper with a bull's-eye sat in the middle of Netherfield's lawn and was illuminated by a pair of torches. Several bottles of good Jamaica rum were passed around.

When the bottle reached him, Darcy wiped the round opening of the bottle and took a deep swig. He swirled the liquid around his tongue, leaving a pleasant burn. A line of fire lit its way down his throat. He passed the bottle along as the warmth settled in his stomach.

The smell of gunpowder and alcohol was pungent in the air.

He had drunk port the night he kissed Elizabeth.

Mr. Goulding shouted out to Bingley, "You are so damned lucky! Damned lucky." He tipped one of the bottles of rum back and drank deeply. He pointed his gun up and shot into the sky. "To Jane Bennet. Prettiest damn girl in the county."

Bingley grinned sheepishly. The flickering light from the torches the servants had set up gave an orange tint to his flushed face.

Someone whose name Darcy did not know shouted, "To Jane Bennet! The brightest jewel of Hertfordshire."

Everyone cheered, and all of the loaded guns were discharged into the air. The gentlemen holding the bottles raised them together and drank a swallow before passing them on.

"An angel!" Bingley shouted out, "She is the prettiest angel in the world. I said that the first moment I saw her — Darcy, confirm that."

"Aye," Darcy took a bottle of rum when it was pushed into his hand. He took a small swallow and passed it along. He was not going to indulge far enough to lose his wits. "She always held your eye."

Mr. Reed, the gentleman Elizabeth had been speaking to when Darcy entered Longbourn's drawing room, exclaimed, "You may have taken the prettiest — but the other four Bennet girls are still there for the rest of us. Do you plan to do anything for them? Not all of us have money enough to ignore every consideration but the beauty of our partner."

Bingley laughed. "Maybe if I like the man. So you are out, Reed."

There were laughs all around. Mr. Goulding slapped Mr. Reed on the back. "Bingley sunk you."

Darcy's fist clenched itself. Reed had been looking at Elizabeth.

At _Elizabeth_.

Darcy was sure he wished to marry her. Darcy's chest felt squeezed, and he imagined pounding his fist into the corner of Mr. Reed's face.

The oldest Lucas son tried to hand Darcy the bottle again, but he pushed it away. Mr. Lucas looked critically at Darcy before he handed the bottle to another guest.

Mr. Reed was unabashed by Bingley's putdown, and he wobbled a little as he exclaimed, "You'll not stop everyone that way! I'd marry one of your sisters without money. They're all so —" He waved his hands to outline the curves of a lady. "You'll have a damned good night tomorrow. But you don't have the only good one. I bet Eliza will be even more exciting once you get her in bed. You can always tell: the skirts with spirit tumble the best."

Darcy's chest thudded tightly. There was a haze of red in front of his eyes. He held a gun, though he'd not reloaded it after firing his turn. He could still pound the stock against Reed's forehead. Everyone around was armed.

"She is my sister!" Bingley looked suddenly sober. "I'll not hear anything of the sort. Apologize for that — I demand you apologize now."

Bingley's eyes flickered away from Mr. Reed and towards Darcy for an instant; Darcy suddenly realized how he must appear with his muscles tense and his teeth bared. Darcy wanted to pound Reed's face into a bloody pulp.

Mr. Reed said, "Bingley, I just —"

John Lucas put his arm around Mr. Reed's shoulder. "Hear, hear. Apologize, man. She is a gentlewoman. You know not to speak about a lady crudely. Apologize."

Everyone murmured in agreement.

Mr. Reed bowed his head and said, "No offense. I should not have spoken so of Miss Elizabeth. It was wrong of me. I have let drink run away with my senses, and it is far past time for me to retire."

Darcy relaxed a little. He still wanted to hurt Mr. Reed. Bingley glanced at Darcy and said, "Enough of this. It is time for billiards — we are too foxed for guns."

No one disagreed, and Bingley's footmen and butler came to take the weapons away. They had suddenly become a somber group.

As they reentered the house Mr. Lucas said loudly, "Reed, you should not even think about Miss Elizabeth!" Seeing he had everyone's attention, Mr. Lucas added, "Papa always said you should never marry a woman cleverer than you are. And Elizabeth, she's sharper than all of us."

The round of laughter which followed drained the tension from the room.

It was well past midnight when the laughter and games ended and the other gentlemen either went home or to rooms given to them at Netherfield. The wedding was to be held an hour before noon, so the late hour was not a problem.

Darcy had ceased to drink fairly early, so he was still alert, though tired. Bingley was halfway between drunk and simply uninhibited. Darcy said farewell and went to go up the stairs to his room.

"Wait. Sit with me, please."

Darcy sat next to Bingley and raised his eyebrows in question.

"I'm too nervous. Everything changes tomorrow. What if I am a terrible husband?"

Darcy smiled and patted Bingley on the shoulder. He rolled his eyes and replied, "That is impossible. You are too good of a gentleman to make yourself or Jane unhappy."

There was a silver tray with meats, cheeses, and rolls left on a side table. A decanter full of water sat next to it.

Darcy poured himself a glass and grabbed a piece of ham and a wedge of cheese before he pushed the tray towards Bingley. "Eat something; it may reduce the effects of the drink in the morning."

Bingley did not reply, instead he stared morosely into his lap.

Darcy sighed. He had to try to relieve his friend's nerves. "My dear man, I have known you five years — and have seen a great deal of you in that time — you are an excellent man, and Miss Bennet is a lucky woman indeed. Anyone can see she adores you."

"Yes, but —" Bingley looked up at Darcy, worried eyes framed by his curly hair. He had taken off his cravat and tail coat earlier in the evening and now wore a green silk waistcoat and linen shirtsleeves. "Why do people end up miserable? So many couples are miserable. Look at my new parents or my brother and sister Hurst. Did they plan to become miserable?"

"You are nothing like either of the gentlemen — Jane is little like her mother or your sister."

"That only means I shall find a novel manner in which to make her unhappy."

Darcy laughed. "Many couples are happy together. You never knew my aunt, Lady Matlock, but her and my uncle were devoted to each other. And you have met my nearest neighbors, the Windhams. Do not worry so. It is possible to find happiness in marriage."

"I know that. But I am… I am not so responsible as you, people can talk me into doing foolish things. I am easily persuadable."

Darcy shrugged and stuffed the last of the roll into his mouth.

"You cannot deny it. Caroline — when I went to town to sign those papers the day you left, she came behind me and tried to convince me to stay in London. She half convinced me Jane was just humoring me and did not care for me at all. I chose not to listen to her, but what if I make such a mistake? I cannot be sure I will never do so."

Darcy finished the glass of water and ate another slice of cheese.

"You know I am too persuadable."

"Then be persuadable." Darcy shook his head. "Just listen to Jane first. She is a sensible girl and will not lead you astray. It is the two of you _together_. If you remember that I think you will do well."

"Follow Jane's lead? Always do what my wife tells me to. You recommend I be henpecked — that is not a manly piece of advice." Bingley grinned. "I like the idea. So long as she provides the orders in privacy, my reputation may remain intact."

The two laughed, then Darcy and Bingley sat in silence.

They had ceased to feed the fire, and the room grew colder and darker. Only a few candles were still lit, the flames flickering an inch or so above the gleaming metal of their holders. Darcy yawned and decided he had sat with Bingley for long enough.

"You and Elizabeth." Bingley spoke abruptly, "I saw the two of you were friendly this evening. She was delighted to see you — I spared enough attention from Jane to tell that. Over the past month we occasionally talked about you. She always wanted to know if I had any news of your doings."

Of course. It had been no accident they were seated next to each other at dinner. Darcy growled, "I would appreciate it if you did not encourage impossible hopes."

Bingley cleared his throat. "I do little of the sort. It is your behavior which encourages such hopes."

Darcy stiffened. He had talked to her hungrily. And she had been open and warm.

Bingley pushed Darcy in the shoulder. "Likely you shall ignore me again, but I must try: marry her."

"I wish you would not interfere."

"You smile with her. You are happy — for once you are completely happy. You are obsessed with her. I daresay your mind was on her pretty eyes this whole evening. Don't be a blockhead."

Darcy bristled at Bingley's words. Bingley's familiar eyes were concerned. Darcy slumped into his chair. His closest friend had earned the right to speak to him so.

Bingley looked away and rubbed at the back of his head. "I have talked with Jane — Elizabeth does not know this — but, because she is to be my sister, my favorite sister, we thought we might increase her dowry."

"No."

"Now listen! I'm not giving you anything — she will be my sister. In less than a half day, she shall be family to me. I would dearly like if you were family as well."

Darcy felt a delight at the notion. He buried his face in his hands. "It cannot matter. You cannot, not in good conscience, give enough to matter against my debts. I must find an heiress."

Bingley frowned. "Is your situation that desperate? I thought you were stable. Is it really true you must marry an heiress? If you are in need, what is mine is yours."

"It is not that." Darcy waved his hand. He was not sure what it was. Bingley was right; he did not _need_ to marry an heiress. His uncle though would be very unhappy if he married a penniless girl, and without Matlock's support he might be forced to sell part of Pemberley.

He had sworn to never do that.

Things had always come out right for Darcy before, maybe they would again. Surely he'd find a way to keep from selling. He did not feel it, but he was more than rich enough to afford a penniless wife. His net income was at least eight thousand a year. _He_ would not be harmed if he sold part of Pemberley to redeem his debts and earned that sum off a smaller estate.

Mr. Windham still wanted to buy part of his land, and he was an exemplary landlord. When he died, his son would be as well.

The room was almost completely dark as the last candles went out. It was still winter and the air was becoming frigid. Darcy stared at the dim red glow from the fire grate.

"Why deny both yourself and Elizabeth this happiness? You love her. Don't be a fool. It would take you longer to sink your debts, but I know that you are not afraid of adding however many years to the process."

"My uncle would be unhappy. I need his loans to keep Pemberley safe. He was very angry about Georgiana — it would be difficult to find someone to offer a new mortgage if I needed to replace his money."

"Fiddle!" Bingley slammed his hand on the small table between them, rattling the tray and knocking over a small pile of rolls. "Your uncle would be brought to reason. Do you remember the stories he told us — the time we were hunting — Lord Matlock might rant and storm, but once he met Elizabeth, he'd come around."

"I'm not sure."

Bingley waved his hand dismissively. "Risk it. You'll find some way to get the money. Marry her, then we'll figure out how to make it work."

"I cannot risk my estate in that way. I will not."

There was a long tense silence.

Why must Bingley push him so hard? It was difficult enough to ignore his own arguments. Darcy was determined not to bend.

Bingley had dipped his thumb into his glass of water and rubbed his wet finger around the top again and again.

"I don't think that is the real reason. You are frightened it would make you like your father. I remember how you swore you would always be different. But it wouldn't. You are nothing like him." Bingley set his glass down. "When I asked Jane to marry me, I knew that if I did not, I would regret it for my entire life. Do not do something you will always regret. Not for a stupid reason."


	19. Chapter 19

Elizabeth and Darcy's eyes met during the ceremony.

The smell of incense and burning candles hung near the front of the modest stone chapel. The morning light strained in through the tall windows, stained yellow, red, and green. A rich green cloth was set on the altar. The parson held a small brown prayer book in front of him and intoned the words of the ceremony.

Darcy paid attention to nothing but Elizabeth's bright brown eyes. The white around the irises, the black of her pupil. Her bold eyelashes. He no longer was sure. The parson spoke of joining, of souls united. It was as though the words applied to them. He needed to be nudged when it was time to hand over the rings.

Elizabeth imagined she was marrying Darcy. She hoped. A desperate hope flowered as their eyes held.

The minutes passed.

The ceremony ended, and they signed the registers. Elizabeth's hand brushed against his, and he smiled. She saw he was no longer sure that he wished to walk away from her.

This was her chance — her true chance to convince him to seize their happiness. She would not let shyness or concern for propriety stop her. It would not be like last time. She would not let him leave again.

They walked out of the church, following Jane and Bingley. Darcy tightly held Elizabeth's arm. It would hurt him if he let her go.

It was a bright day with a thin winter sun that left the air cool but pleasant. A crowd of the local gentry waited outside of the tall double doors to greet the happy couple. Everyone smiled and shook hands.

After the crush lessened, Mr. Reed shook hands with Bingley and Jane. He then spoke to Elizabeth, "I love to see people wed happily! A wedding always makes me think about marriage and the future. Is it not so for you?"

Barely paying attention to Mr. Reed, Elizabeth said with high emotion, "Oh, it _definitely_ makes me think of marrying." Her voice was full of feeling, and she squeezed Darcy's arm as she spoke.

Mr. Reed did not see that, and he smiled at Elizabeth. "Miss Bennet, would you walk with me to your brother's house? I would like to converse with you."

Elizabeth blinked at him. But before she could find a polite refusal, Mr. Reed moved to take the arm which Darcy did not hold.

Darcy held Elizabeth's arm tightly, and pulled her away from Mr. Reed's grasping hand. Darcy's voice came out in a low growl, " _Reed_."

Elizabeth's eyes to darted to Darcy's face. He was jealous. Elizabeth's cheeks pulled up into a bright smile. Darcy looked delightfully masculine with his teeth bared. Her bold hero.

He was claiming her.

Reed spoke, "Now, Darcy, what are you doing — oh."

Elizabeth did not look at Reed; she was far too busy admiring the way Darcy glared. She'd never thought his eyes would be so perfect when he was angry.

Reed added in a flat voice, "I apologize. I did not understand the situation, Mr. Darcy. There was no offense intended. Good fortune to you both."

Darcy stared at Mr. Reed as he walked around the corner of the church. When he was no longer visible, Darcy turned to look at Elizabeth. She smiled more brightly than ever before, and her eyes sparkled with amusement. Everything pulled him towards her.

Darcy smiled back, but it was a thin smile.

His stomach roiled with disgust and anxiety. He was failing. He had sworn to behave in one manner, and he had failed. His eyes held onto her face. He had no choice, no ability to turn away from the promise in her smile. This was like last time; his mind would change itself again.

Maybe he no longer wanted to fight himself.

He loved her.

Elizabeth saw he was torn. She only needed to push him a little further. Then whatever made him hesitate would dissolve. He would realize it did not matter — no matter what difficulties they faced they would be happy. Happy while they faced them together.

"Darcy, your arm, it is the only one I want to hold." His eyes searched hers. "It is the best arm I know. I plan to hold it always."

Darcy nodded barely, his eyes not leaving Elizabeth's. The moment burned into his soul. He would marry her, just like his father would have. She deserved better than him. Better than a man who would break a solemn vow with himself.

Elizabeth seemed unnerved by his stare but still smiling said, "Mr. Reed is an awful man. To compare a woman to a dog like he did last night."

Darcy's heart beat hard, and his eyes softened.

Elizabeth cheerfully said, " _You_ are a like a dog — a great big clever sheepdog that protects the herd and drives off wolves. A loyal companion."

Elizabeth's stomach flipped as Darcy at last smiled back at her. A real smile; one which pulled the corners of his eyes together. Her heart pounded wildly.

He said, "So you think it right to compare _gentlemen_ to dogs, just not ladies."

"Your character has the _good_ features of a wonderful dog. I doubt you would ever loll your tongue out to beg for a choice treat."

"I might loll my tongue out to beg a special favor from you."

Elizabeth's face went bright red. It made her envision games husbands and wives might play with each other. She added, "I did not compare your appearance to a dog's — though how you look does make me want to hold and pet you."

Darcy frowned. "I am not much like such a dog — such a dog would never abandon his flocks."

Elizabeth's smile did not waver, but her stomach spasmed painfully. She needed to make him see. His first duty, his true duty, must be to himself — to his own happiness. To her.

Charlotte interrupted them and touched Elizabeth's arm. She pointed her pale blue glove towards the road. Half the people who had been invited to the feast at Netherfield had already started down. Charlotte said some nonsense about the meal, but what Elizabeth saw was concern in her eyes. Charlotte glanced between her and Darcy, and Elizabeth realized that they had been very indiscreet.

Elizabeth did not care.

Darcy took Charlotte's arm with his free hand, and the three set off on the short walk to Netherfield. Elizabeth said, "It is a beautiful day. A happy day."

Darcy nodded.

Elizabeth added, "It _shall_ be happy. Charlotte, do you remember my dog, Merlin? Would you not agree that it would be a great compliment to be compared to him?"

Elizabeth squeezed Darcy's arm again, working her fingers deeper into the springy flesh of his muscles.

"That shaggy creature? I swear you loved him as much as Jane. And you would let him follow you everywhere. You dreadfully spoilt the animal."

"He was a delightful dog. Loyal, friendly, noble. He understood that claiming those who he cared for and keeping them near always was most important." Elizabeth spoke to Darcy, "You know that as well."

Darcy remembered his father. He would run about and appear well for everyone in the neighborhood — but he failed to protect and guard those nearest him. Elizabeth was the person dearest to him now that Georgiana had left. What was the purpose of protecting the estate if he did not protect it _for_ somebody?

Maybe it would not be like his father to marry Elizabeth. Maybe…

Miss Lucas was quiet, and her eyes were pointed firmly away from them.

It felt like there had been a long pause in the conversation, though it had only been a matter of seconds. "You are right. Caring for those you love is most important."

The three of them reached Netherfield, and Jane ran to Elizabeth and hugged her tightly. During the breakfast Darcy was unable to talk to Elizabeth because all of the women crowded around Jane. He talked to Bingley. Mr. Bennet watched him with a speculative frown.

He was giving up.

Elizabeth; his Elizabeth. He would marry her.

He'd nearly decided that before, but this time was different.

He would not change his mind this time. He did not want to change it. Resisting her charms had not made him happy. He was tired of endless duty. Life with Elizabeth would be warm and happy and filled with laughter.

It did not matter that he was acting like Father.

When their eyes met, his heart leapt and his stomach twisted with anxiety.

She was perfect. Beyond perfect. She was precious and sweet. She was happy, lively, eager. If he ran again, if he forced himself away, she would be hurt terribly.

His father's behavior was driven by vanity and indulgence, not affection. He loved Elizabeth with everything in his soul.

They sat too far apart from each other to converse during the wedding breakfast.

Elizabeth saw how Darcy watched her with those dark probing eyes. He kept drinking, and she drank too. She was scared. She would not survive it if he left again. She could not. Not now. He looked like the portrait of a haunted man. His eyes rarely left her, but he was not happy.

After breakfast the ladies left to help Jane to dress for her wedding trip. They went to the side room, where Jane removed the wedding clothes and put on a traveling dress. For a few minutes Darcy faded from Elizabeth's mind.

Her sister was married!

She was going away, and when she returned, she would live at Netherfield. Nothing would ever be the same. Tears began, and Elizabeth hugged Jane again and again.

At last Jane was in the wedding chaise, and it pulled away. Colder weather was coming in, and the wind flapped their clothes. The wheels of the carriage made a low clatter as they rolled over the packed gravel driveway.

Darcy saw the bittersweet look in Elizabeth's eyes. The occasion was so much happier than when he learned about Georgiana, but still Elizabeth had always been so close to her sister. She must feel the change deeply. He squeezed her arm.

Elizabeth smiled at him and wildly waved her other arm at the departing carriage. Darcy leaned next to her ear and said in a low voice that vibrated in Elizabeth's stomach, "You shall always be her sister. There is change, but that bond remains. That will always be the same."

Elizabeth allowed her happy tears to flow. "I am so happy and sad at the same time. It is silly… I did not think I would cry so."

Darcy wanted to comfort her and dabbed at her face with his handkerchief. He then handed the cloth to Elizabeth, suddenly uncomfortable with the intimacy.

"Thank you… I am so, so glad you are with me. You always cure any melancholy. I am always warm and safe when you are near."

Darcy loved to hear her say that. Every bit of Elizabeth was precious to him. It was not a matter of her beauty, but of her being. He felt like he was floating, and he grinned at her.

A voice screamed in the back of his mind. _You cannot do this — stop, stop, stop_. Darcy pushed it away. He would not walk away this time.

A cold chill froze Darcy's guts. He could change his mind. He knew he could change it. What was he doing? He was violating a solemn oath. Father did what he wanted. He wouldn't be like Father.

This was wrong.

Darcy's breath hitched, and Elizabeth saw the wildness return to his eyes. He looked away from her. Mr. Bennet spoke to Sir Lucas, but Elizabeth realized he watched them. Charlotte and Mary were talking, while Lydia and Kitty had walked off to Meryton for gossip already.

This was no time to be shy.

Ignoring those around her, she stepped close to Darcy and placed her hand on his upper arm. "You are happy now. Be happy. This is perfect, this is where you belong. Do not doubt it."

Elizabeth felt the wine in her stomach, his arm was muscular, and she flushed with desire for him to touch her. "Your estate, your uncle, your plans — they are not as important as our love. As this bond between us. You know that."

She smiled brightly at Darcy. He said with an eerie uninflected voice, "I am happy with you. Yes. Happy." He made no motion to step away from her. "Elizabeth — I think I should go."

"Stay. You deserve to be happy. You need friendship, you need affection, you need me. You will be lonely and lost if you leave. _I_ will be lonely and lost."

"I know what I need."

"You are no fool. You do not — _we_ do not need wealth. We do not need anything but each other. You will not find happiness in a large income. Admit you are no fool."

"I am no fool."

"Then do not return to Pemberley alone."

"I do not know what is right. I… I can't think."

He left her and walked around the house and into the garden. The weather had turned icy, and a cold wind blew through the bare branches. It cooled him down.

Darcy pressed his head against the wood of a white gazebo. Resisting Elizabeth made him a fool. The money would work out, hopefully. It did not matter. He would lose no money by marrying Elizabeth, because he could not marry an heiress.

Elizabeth was the only woman he could ever marry.

He was going to walk back around the house. He would grab Elizabeth's hand, he would lean his head next to hers, and he would whisper, "Marry me."

A girl's slippered footsteps sounded behind him. It could only be Elizabeth. Darcy took a deep breath to prepare himself.

"Look at me," her achingly beautiful voice called out, "Fitzwilliam, look at me."

She stood, every feature clear in the afternoon light. Her dark eyes were fevered; she was bareheaded; he could see the pale white line of a part through her hair.

Elizabeth stepped forward, and her voice rang out clear, "You love me. This bond — you cannot deny it. I love you, I want you — we will be happy. Please."

Darcy did not reply. His features were painfully sharp and beautiful. Elizabeth did not know what the cast of his face meant. She stepped so close their clothes brushed. Elizabeth stood on her toes to speak into his ear, pushing her breasts against Darcy. He tensed, and she felt it. Elizabeth breathily whispered, "You want to enjoy my body. I want yours. Take me to your home. Make me your wife."

Darcy burned.

Flames ran through his toes and fingers and torso. She stepped back and looked at him. The memory of her warm breath tingled on his ear. He could not think. She was beguiling and beautiful and inhumanly tempting.

"Please…" Elizabeth moaned.

She grabbed his shoulders and pulled herself up to kiss him. Darcy desperately held her against his body, he felt her belly and breasts tight against his stomach and chest. He could never let her go. Her leg rubbed against his loins. She flicked her tongue at his lips, and he opened them.

Darcy's eyes closed, and Elizabeth whimpered into his mouth.

Wickham's voice laughed in his mind. His father's cold eyes glared into his core. Darcy froze. Elizabeth continued to squeeze his shoulders. One strong hand was tangled in the hair on the back of his neck. Her lips and tongue begged him to kiss her back. Her weight was warm, soft, and clinging.

A despicable voice cut through his mind: _You are Fitzwilliam Darcy. You are not like your father._

Darcy felt as though he was looking down on his body from above. He wanted to stop himself as he pushed Elizabeth away. He did not recognize the voice as his own. "Madam. I cannot. I cannot fail my duty. We shall not meet again. I shall not let passion guide me."

Elizabeth reached towards him. "No — I need you."

Her face collapsed as Darcy stepped back away from her and shook his head, no. Her mouth opened and closed. Her face was white, so white. It was like she didn't understand, couldn't understand. Then Elizabeth turned and ran. She stumbled over a plant and banged her knee. Darcy stepped towards her to help her stand, but she immediately rose and ran again.

Sick.

Darcy wanted to throw up and cry. He wanted to die.

Why? Why did he do that?

He hadn't meant to refuse her. He didn't want to refuse her. He hated himself. When he walked away from her last time it had been a victory over himself. But this was a defeat.

With a slow, slouched step Darcy walked to the post station. He clutched his hand against his chest and tears rolled down his face.

MDVMDVMDV

He didn't care for her. Elizabeth's knee hurt from where she fell as she ran, and her dress was torn.

Everything. She had shown him everything in her heart, and he didn't care.

He rejected her again.

It was not supposed to be like this. She had been brave and ignored propriety and the foolish social rules that stopped women from showing affection. He was supposed to realize that love — that she — mattered more than prudence and money.

Elizabeth found an isolated bench, surrounded by tall rosebushes on three sides and hugged her shoulders tightly. She sobbed and sobbed with huge choking gasps. Her nose was stuffed, and she could not breathe right. Her breath hitched with a rasping wheeze as she struggled to draw in air. Her chest hurt.

Everything hurt.

She brought her knees up and buried her face against them. Her left knee stung with pain, a dull counterpoint to the agony in her chest. The freezing surface of the bench made her shiver.

A lone bird chirped, not heeding her cries, and the sun came out from behind a cloud warming her.

What was _wrong_ with her?

How dare he reject her! There was nothing wrong with her! How dare he change his mind after he had nearly decided to marry her _again_? Indecisive, greedy waffler. Damn, damn — damn him.

Elizabeth sobbed harder. It felt like acid ate through her stomach.

"Here is where you fled!"

Mr. Bennet stood under an arbor. It was covered with gray leafless vines, and the sun lit him from behind. His tailored black coat clung tightly against his frame. Her father's face was mottled; his neck jutted forward.

"You can't disguise it — a servant saw you kiss him. He abandoned you, I see. Good for him. You Jezebel. You behaved like… like a damn whore." Mr. Bennet's veins pulsed visibly. He held his clenched fists trembling in the air above Elizabeth. For a moment Elizabeth feared, or maybe hoped, he would strike her.

Mr. Bennet stomped his foot. "Look at me! Damned girl. I never thought you were a sly, loose Miss who only wanted to trap a gentleman. You've made a scandal of yourself. Has he taken your virtue? Did you let him do that? Perhaps at Netherfield when you were with Jane? Well? Did he!"

Elizabeth flinched at her father's shout, and a startled flight of birds left the garden.

A servant had seen her?

Of course one had. Elizabeth's hot flash of shame somehow made her less miserable. As her father continued to yell, she ground her teeth in anger. She loved Darcy. If he had wished her virtue, she would have given it to him. She wished he had.

She would happily become Darcy's mistress if he asked.

He hadn't.

Elizabeth's face crumpled, and she sobbed again. Mr. Bennet grabbed her wrist and roughly yanked Elizabeth to her feet. "The carriage is in the lane behind the house."

He dragged Elizabeth behind him with a viselike grip on her wrist. It hurt.

Elizabeth tried to stop sniffling and hold her head high. She was angry at her father for accusing her so, she was angry at Darcy for leaving her, she was angry at herself for not being enough for Mr. Darcy.

The carriage was empty, and their coachman sat on the roof. Mr. Bennet hurled her in and then settled next to Elizabeth on the bright red cushions. He stuck his head out the window. "To Longbourn. Hurry."

With a jolt the carriage started its rattling way.

Elizabeth sat stiffly. She angled her head away from her father and did not look at anything. The empty pit in her stomach still swallowed everything else. Tears dripped down her cheeks.

"I expected better from you. _How could you_? You are like your mother. You are like every worthless girl who hopes some poor gentleman will become so desperate to tumble her that he'll be stupid enough to marry her."

The air between them was stuffed with tension. Mr. Bennet asked, "Did you?" When Elizabeth made no response, Mr. Bennet repeated far more loudly, "Well! Did you? Pray tell, _are you still a virgin_? Do I need to chase after that worthless gentleman to find out?"

"Don't speak of Darcy so!"

Elizabeth looked at her father. His face was still red; the muscles behind his jaw tense and vibrating. Her sharp tone stunned him into stillness for an instant, and Elizabeth tasted the saltiness of the tears pouring down her cheeks. Mr. Bennet began to speak again, and Elizabeth cut him off, "You need not worry for my virtue. He didn't want me."

Mr. Bennet sneered. "He wanted you. That was obvious. But he walked away. Good for him. By Gad, good for him. I admire men who are better than me. He chose not to marry you, but you chased him, _like your damn mother,_ just because you wanted a handsome husband. Damn all women. Damn your despicable female tricks, damn those touches and coy looks, those obscene sighs. You are all disgusting creatures desperate for a good estate and a husband. I never thought _you_ would descend so low."

"Maybe if you hadn't been an irresponsible, selfish gentleman who spent his entire income and instead provided a dowry for your daughters, I would not have needed to use those female tricks to attract an honorable husband. Perhaps if you had been a better father, Darcy might have… I might have… maybe… Oh, I wish I had been good enough."

Elizabeth's stomach clenched again, and she started to sob once more.

Mr. Bennet didn't move for a minute. He then he put his arm around Elizabeth and pulled her against him. "There, there girl. I shouldn't have said that. I did not mean it; Forgive me. I… I should have made the effort and saved a dowry for you. I have failed you."

Elizabeth cried into her father's shoulder; the stiff wool of his overcoat scratched her raw nose. He patted her on the shoulder.


	20. Chapter 20

Ramsgate, March 1812

Elizabeth stepped out of the house and craned her neck to look at the gulls flying above. The air was still chilled, but the spring sun warmed her face delightfully. Elizabeth had resided in the seaside town with Jane and Bingley for two weeks, and she was settled into a habit of walks and contemplation. Today she would walk through the fields around the edge of town and then sit at the harbor and watch the buzzing activity of boats and ships being loaded and unloaded.

The scandal had not been _very_ bad.

Everyone knew Elizabeth had been jilted by Darcy, but her neighbors were sympathetic, not scornful. If any salacious rumors circulated in the neighborhood, Elizabeth heard nothing of them, and she was invited about and called upon by her neighbors _more_ often than normal.

Everyone said some variant of: "Don't be miserable over that poor gentleman. I always thought he was very ill favored. Far too proud for someone with such a sister."

Every time Elizabeth heard this, she wished to scream. She had been rejected; she had not been enough for him. They did not need to remind her again and again. Darcy had made his choice, and Papa was right that his force of will was admirable. Elizabeth could not hate him for loving duty more than her.

Mr. Reed had hoped that she would show interest in him now that Darcy had left. For a terrifying moment Elizabeth thought of encouraging him as a revenge against Darcy and herself. Then she was too disgusted by herself to send Mr. Reed politely off and was quite rude to the poor man.

Mrs. Bennet scolded Elizabeth several days after the wedding when they both sat with Mrs. Phillips: "I don't understand why you set your cap at Mr. Darcy. He was rude and didn't talk to anyone — speaking easily to everyone, like Mr. Bingley does, that is my idea of true good breeding — It would have connected you with his scandalous sister. You should have asked me for advice. Right after he arrived in the neighborhood I interrogated Mr. Darcy to find if he was as poor as they all say. Did you know he travels by post? _By post_. He doesn't even keep a carriage. His uncle may be an earl, but why did you want to marry someone that poor? Especially with such ill-favored manners — I imagine you _now_ regret letting Mr. Collins escape."

"Not at all, Mama."

"Well you should — sister, can you imagine how happy we would be if in addition to Jane being neatly settled away, Elizabeth was to be the future mistress of Longbourn?"

Mrs. Phillips replied kindly, "It is a great pity. Lizzy you must not feel it so keenly, you could have had Collins, and there are a great many other gentlemen you might have. You'll catch someone else, and soon, I daresay. That young Reed, his estate is good — you have his eye I think."

Mrs. Bennet said, "Yes, Mr. Reed. I shall invite him to call next time I see him. But, Lizzy, I fancy that you'll not land him either. I don't understand it. You are my daughter; you should have caught Mr. Darcy. When I was your age — the time I kissed a gentleman I wanted — _he didn't walk away_. You remember."

Mrs. Phillips nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, yes. Mr. Bennet was the greatest catch in the neighborhood. Everyone thought he would marry a bluestocking like Miss Smith, with his bookish ways. And her fortune was so much better than ours, but you flirted and smiled with him, and then he couldn't look at anybody else. It was a brilliant catch."

"It was. He was hesitating, Lizzy. Your father had some notion I wasn't _precisely_ the sort of woman he meant to marry. So I kissed him and drove that thought right out of his brain. We married three and a half weeks later and have been happy ever since. You should have asked me for advice on how to do it if _that_ was your plan. You must have done a poor job of kissing Mr. Darcy. When I was through with him, your father couldn't stand."

Elizabeth stared at her mother with mute horror and nausea. It was far more than she'd wanted to know.

No wonder she'd _disappointed_ Papa.

She wasn't like her mother. She was not.

She loved Darcy, and he loved each other. She'd only wanted him to be happy. Happy with her. It needed to be with her. And she wasn't good enough for him.

Well if he didn't want her, she didn't want him.

Elizabeth refused to be miserable, so she laughed at herself. She was acting like the fox in the fable again. And she had behaved like a moth who darted towards a burning lamp repeatedly, even though she was burnt each time.

It was funny if she tried hard enough to laugh.

Elizabeth took long freezing walks, miles and miles of thought. She cried herself to sleep several times and practiced the piano for hours, playing melancholy pieces until she knew them by heart and could make the music hurt her soul.

Mr. Bennet tried to be a better father. He didn't tease or make fun of her about her lovelorn ways, and she knew he felt a need to apologize for how he'd treated her that first day. The subject was too embarrassing and painful to talk about.

One of their servants gave notice, and Mr. Bennet refused to let his wife replace her. He modestly reduced everyone's allowance and forced Mrs. Bennet to spend less lavishly on entertainments. Elizabeth knew that his efforts to economize and finally set something aside were her father's admission that he had been wrong. However, while he could control his own expenses, her mother and Lydia's demands for more money would wear him down once the guilt dissipated.

In the long run nothing would change.

Elizabeth wanted to be elsewhere. Somewhere that nothing would remind her of Mr. Darcy. She even looked forward to her planned visit to Charlotte in April, even though it would also be a visit to Mr. Collins. Charlotte was too good a friend to be anything but genuinely sympathetic, and Elizabeth hoped Mr. Collins knew nothing of the affair. In any case, it would do her good to see a stupid fellow who had no redeeming characteristics.

Without being told, Jane immediately understood Elizabeth's desire to be gone. The day she returned from her honeymoon, Jane embraced Elizabeth and dragged her outside. "Oh, Lizzy, I am so, so grieved. Charles feels awful because he encouraged you. He very much hoped Mr. Darcy would marry you. He is most unhappy with his friend. I am as well."

"It isn't Bingley's fault. And Darcy, I would despise myself if I destroyed their friendship. Darcy had made his disinclination clear. I was the one who pursued him."

Jane exclaimed, "I saw how he behaved after the wedding — I was sure you two would make a match of it. It made me so happy to think you would not be alone for long. And then everyone sent these letters describing how he'd abandoned you after kissing you. It was not well done, not at all."

"I kissed him; he'd already left me, and I chased him. I behaved with abominable selfishness. Even though I think he is wrong, Darcy has decided that his estate and family duties matter most to him. He uses his money to help those in need, and his good fortune will benefit many other people — I ignored _every_ modest consideration, like Mama or Lydia, and I planned to chase him until he agreed. Don't let Bingley hate Darcy."

"Well, do not worry about _that_. Charles could not _hate_ anyone. I still insist Mr. Darcy used you terribly. You are just too good to be angry with him."

Elizabeth smiled. "I assure you. I have _not_ become you. I do not think _too_ well of my fellow man. I just prefer — please don't try to convince me to think I did nothing wrong. I beg you, it… it still hurts. I — " Elizabeth rubbed at her cheek. "I find it easier, far easier, if I concentrate on how I was selfish, and how I can learn and be a better person. I don't want to hate — or even be angry at Darcy."

"You were not selfish."

"I want to believe I was. Then I can blame myself for that instead of wondering what was wrong with me. I can be less selfish in the future. If there was no lesson — I would be miserable."

Jane squeezed Elizabeth's shoulders. "I have a scheme in mind, one which you shall enjoy. I have developed a deep desire to see the sea, and I must have you with me. Charles has taken a house in Ramsgate, and you shall come with us to enjoy the salt and the sand. We shall leave next week, and our plan is to keep the house until it is time for you to visit Charlotte. In all you shall be gone from home for three or four months complete. Do tell me you like the scheme."

"I do, I love it… But are you certain you do not wish to settle in at Netherfield? You are now mistress of the house."

"I can be mistress of a small cottage in Ramsgate just as well. It shall be like it always has been, us living together. I'll enjoy it far more than visiting and hosting entertainments for everyone."

"Thank you — oh, _thank you_. I _very_ much want different scenery."

Elizabeth was choked with tears. She'd known that things would feel better as soon as she saw Jane, and they did.

She had never been at the seaside for more than a few days before. The house Jane and Bingley took was on the outskirts of the town, surrounded by a pretty garden with a neatly cropped lawn. It had a view that watched over the beach. Elizabeth sat for hours on a wicker lounge chair looking past the flower beds at the green water rushing in and out. She always had a book next to her on a marble table, but many days she just thoughtlessly listened to the crashing surf.

The house was a substantial yellow two-story building with a grand piano in the spacious drawing room. Elizabeth planned to practice a great deal to maintain her recently improved skills, but the distraction of a new countryside to explore meant she almost never practiced. Instead Elizabeth took long walks along the beach, and she sat out by the harbor to watch the pleasure vessels playing about and ships coming in and out.

At nights, despite the cold, Elizabeth opened her window and sat on the windowsill breathing the salty air until she became sleepy.

Elizabeth gave Jane and Bingley much privacy, aware they were still close to their honeymoon. However, she still talked with both of them often, and the intimacy of living in the same house gave Elizabeth a closer understanding of her brother-in-law.

After a week Elizabeth looked forward to the occasional parties or assemblies held in Ramsgate. The season was still early for the seaside town, and Ramsgate always was quieter than a major port or a gathering place such as Bath. Still, where there were young persons, there must be dancing.

She felt almost herself again.

This morning Elizabeth made a long circuit, walking through the fields and country lanes around the town for more than an hour. The growing season had begun, and green sprouted everywhere. At last she came around to the harbor and sat down on a picturesque wooden bench in the city park which ran along the coastline. The sun beat down upon her.

A frigate slowly sailed away from the pier. She sat next to a freshly blooming rose bush, and a sweet fragrance wafted from the profusion of red blossoms. It was a warm clear day, and the soft sea breeze kept her cool.

A girl Elizabeth had seen several times before sat with her maid on another bench thirty feet away. She was a young bride who dressed in well-made silk dresses. The girl was tall, and she was with child. Even though her body was mature, her mannerisms made her seem several years younger than Elizabeth.

The girl's face pulled at Elizabeth — even though she'd never seen her before, it was familiar. It was that sense of frustrated recognition that made Elizabeth pay attention to the woman at first.

She would stay out in the park for an hour most days. Her husband collected her near one or two in the afternoon. He was extremely handsome, and he gallantly and extravagantly kissed her hand each time he came to meet her. He wore a beautiful tailcoat and an expensive silk waistcoat whose buttons gleamed in the warm sunlight. He flourished a gold cane, and there was something in his walk and deportment that drew every female eye.

He was the most perfect dandy Elizabeth had ever seen.

Despite the felicity the girl should have due to a handsome and attentive husband and the promise of a child, her frown and dejected posture when she looked out at the harbor convinced Elizabeth she was lonely.

No one ever greeted the young lady. Elizabeth had only seen her speak to her maid and her husband. That was unusual. Due to the smallness of the community, most of the resident gentry knew each other, even beachgoers who had only taken a house for a few months.

Eventually, Elizabeth realized there was a scandal about the woman. Gentlewomen who were long-term residents of Ramsgate would sneer and whisper to each other when they saw the girl. Maybe she was the man's mistress instead of his wife.

Elizabeth would not condemn her if that was the case. She lit up when he greeted her, and when they sat in the park and talked and laughed together she appeared so happy. It would be the rankest hypocrisy to condemn another for a sin she would have happily committed had Darcy's character been different.

The girl also studied Elizabeth on occasion. However, when their eyes met the girl looked away and hunched her shoulders so she looked smaller and smoothed down her clothes.

Elizabeth was curious and desired to meet her. However, without acquaintances in common, it would be a breach of etiquette to introduce herself. After a week and a half of hoping she would see _someone_ greet the girl, Elizabeth's patience was at an end.

This time, when their eyes met and the girl did her little fidget, Elizabeth stood and walked to where she sat.

The young woman's eyes went wide and she crossed her arms defensively over her chest when she saw Elizabeth march up to her.

Elizabeth spoke confidently, "I have wished to make your acquaintance for several days now — it is forward of me to approach you, but I would be silly indeed if I spend my entire sojourn in Ramsgate unable to meet you simply because I cannot find a common acquaintance to request the introduction from. Would you allow me to introduce myself?"

The girl started with surprise and stood from the bench. Then she pulled at the sleeve of her dress and looked at a point past Elizabeth's shoulder. "I would like that very much. I… if it is not wrong of me to say so, I have wondered about you as well. You look so very handsome and confident — and the other woman who is sometimes with you is very beautiful too."

"That is my sister Jane." Elizabeth leaned towards her new acquaintance and said conspiratorially, "She is perfect."

The girl looked at Elizabeth and smiled.

Taking that as a victory, Elizabeth pulled her leg back and made a curtsy. "Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn in Hertfordshire, at your service."

Instead of reciprocating the girl stiffened and hesitated. There were bright red spots on her cheeks. Elizabeth realized she thought her name would reveal the scandal. At last, without precisely looking at Elizabeth, the girl made an awkward curtsey. Her pregnancy interfered with the grace of the movements. "Mrs. Georgiana Wickham… of Ramsgate."

"Wickham!"

Could there be more than one young wife with the name Georgiana Wickham?

She had _his_ look. That was why Elizabeth always felt like she half recognized her. At Elizabeth's shocked response, Mrs. Wickham stood taller and appeared much like Darcy did when he overheard insults.

"Mrs. Wickham, were you Miss Darcy before your marriage?"

"I was. I am _that_ Miss Darcy. My husband was the steward's son. I'm certain you shall wish nothing further to do with me, Miss Bennet, but do know I regret nothing. I love him, and he loves me. That matters more than impressing women such as you."

"And your brother?" Elizabeth spoke sharply, "Do you regret hurting him? Do you not realize —" Elizabeth's chest ached. If only _he_ had thought nothing mattered more than love. But then he would not have been Fitzwilliam Darcy.

"I doubt that he cares for _me_. Not any more, not since I married Wickham."

"You know him not at all if you think that. You are a fool, Mrs. Wickham. It would be impossible for your brother to have anything but the strongest affection for you. A horrible fool. Mr. Darcy could not cease to care —" Elizabeth's voice shook with anger. "Your brother has told me how you read together, how he loved to listen to you practice piano, how he — how he cared for you since the first time he held you as a babe. And you betrayed him. Can you not think! Have you any sense how much harm your sudden marriage to his enemy did? He was forced to borrow from my brother-in-law, Mr. Bingley, to find the money for your dowry. How can you —"

"Is it true? Did Fitzwilliam say that about me? Does he really worry about me — is he well? You know him. Tell me that he is well. I've worried about him."

Elizabeth was taken aback by the sudden turn in Georgiana's expression. "I… I hardly know. I —"

Elizabeth closed her eyes.

His eyes had looked eerie when he said: _Madam, I cannot._ Anxiety for Darcy hit Elizabeth in her stomach. She should never have pushed him so hard. "I do not know. He was not well when I saw him at my sister's wedding two months past. He is a principled man. I pray that is enough consolation for him."

"What? What do you mean? How is he unwell? Tell me — I am his sister."

It was worse than impossible to tell this stranger who was Darcy's sister about the details of that day. Elizabeth should have said nothing.

She had never really worried about him. Even though he had been the one to walk away, he still must have hurt terribly. How could she claim to love him when she had never worried about him? He was loyal and good, but he had been torn between two desperate needs.

Just because she was not miserable… that did not mean Darcy was well. Her character was not given to sadness or depression, and she had far more friends than he. Darcy was always too solemn and too alone. He would brood, and he would not laugh at himself. Elizabeth suddenly hoped he had already found another woman; a girl who had enough money and who could make him smile and laugh.

He hadn't. A man like Darcy could not fall out of love so quickly.

"Please, Miss Bennet. Say something."

"I worry — I fear he is lonely."

"Oh." Georgiana looked as miserable as Elizabeth felt. "I hoped — I hope he finds someone he can love, like I love Wickham. Have you heard anything of the sort…? Maybe he has formed an attachment."

For a brief instant Elizabeth wanted to shake and throttle the girl. "No. I am aware of no woman he is likely to marry."

"Oh." Georgiana brightened. "He is always so capable and active. I know he doesn't need anyone; he isn't like most men. He is much better. He doesn't have the weaknesses everyone else has. That I have, or that my George does."

"No, he is not weak. But just because — no man is an island entire of himself. He is not happy alone. _Don't_ think you have no cause for guilt. He needs —"

"Wickham needed me more. And I love him. Fitzwilliam must find his own life — I am his sister not his wife. Oh, but I do hope — do you think it is my fault he is unhappy? Is he so very unhappy? I so wish I could speak with him, but George is so jealous, he begged me not to mail Fitzwilliam, and Fitzwilliam has sent me no mail. I cannot disobey my husband — my first loyalty must be with him. But — oh, it would make me so happy if they could reconcile. I told George to try, to apologize for their quarrels — even if Fitzwilliam is in the wrong, but he will not."

"I know he misses you, and it will comfort him to hear that you are healthy and treated well."

"George would never —"

Elizabeth smiled at the girl's instant defense of her husband. "I have seen him greet you, and he appears devoted. I shall make sure Mr. Darcy hears that."

"Your sister — is she Mr. Bingley's wife? She looks like a woman Mr. Bingley would marry, sweet and pretty — is Mr. Bingley in Ramsgate? I should like to see him — he must be angry at me for disobeying my brother."

"I do not think Mr. Bingley hates anyone. He is much like my sister in that. Have you seen much of him?"

"Oh, yes. Fitzwilliam never stood on formality when he visited. And Bingley is such a kind man." Georgiana stopped speaking and paled. "Oh."

Elizabeth looked behind her and saw that Bingley and Jane were approaching.

"Lizzy, hello, who is your friend." When Bingley reached near enough to see Georgiana clearly, his jaw dropped. "Georgiana Darcy! Here — is that you? It is. And however did you meet Lizzy."

Georgiana ducked her head shyly.

"Are you well? Has Mr. Wickham treated you well? Your brother is so worried about you."

"I am well. I am. My George is a good man. Please tell Fitzwilliam that I am very, very happy and that I wish — Mr. Bingley, has he seemed happy to you?"

"No. Of course not. Georgiana, you should be ashamed of yourself. Have you any idea what your brother went through due to your accursed marriage. Did you think upon his well-being at all?"

Georgiana huffed with offense. "I did!"

"Your dowry — have you any idea, _any_ , how difficult it is during these times to gather such a huge sum? And afterwards — you can scarce conceive what sorts of damn fool ideas he gave himself in those first few months."

Georgiana appeared stricken. "I did not wish to hurt him, but there was no choice. I did not think it would hurt him — I know the money must be difficult… Oh — I would rather he had not paid my dowry than for him to have harmed his interests. I know how important clearing Father's debts is to him. But my dowry cannot have made matters so much worse."

"Have you any sense how much money thirty thousand pounds is? Of course not. You are a fool woman, and I had no notion of value at your age either. It made matters worse — much worse — and then your mutton headed brother… Well, I suppose it isn't your fault that your brother is a damned fool — of late he's turned into a complete nitwit, a numbskull, a —"

"Fitzwilliam is no fool."

Bingley laughed. "You are still quick to defend him." Bingley glanced at Elizabeth and sighed. "I would not have thought he was a fool either. But, while Darcy is gifted in money matters, in other, equally important concerns, he is a decided blockhead. No matter, it isn't anything to _you_ any longer. You shouldn't have married _Wickham._ "

"You do not know him. George is the best of men. And I love him. I did think of my brother — I did — I had to follow my heart, my soul. Nothing is more important than the bond between two souls meant to be attached! If my father saw our attachment, he would've approved."

Bingley made a face. "Well." He hemmed and said, "The manner in which the affair was conducted was poorly done. Poorly done. And you are too young to run off without your brother's consent, no matter what you believe your father would have thought."

Georgiana crossed her arms and stared back at Bingley. "I am old enough to know love. Don't treat me as a child."

"No, you are not a child anymore." Bingley asked in a softer tone, "Truly are you well? Are you happy? Has he treated you well? Is Wickham misusing your funds? Are you spending extravagantly?"

"He would never do that! Apologize."

"I'm glad to hear he never would behave that way," Bingley replied in a conciliatory tone. "But are you certain about the money? Wickham was known as a gamester at Cambridge, and men like that do not change easily. Are you sure your finances are as they should be? Do you see the account figures at the bank or know for certain he hasn't been selling your investments?"

" _I_ trust my husband. It is what a wife should do. It is not my place to question him. I know Wickham would never act as you claim he would. I know him. He is no gambler."

"I assure you he was." Bingley sighed. "May I at least confidently tell your brother that you are happy and treated well?"

"Please — say anything you will think shall make him worry less and be happier. I am so very happy. Wickham is the perfect man and the perfect husband. He loves me, and I love him — how can anything else matter."

"Well. That is good. I am sincerely happy to hear it, and your brother shall be as well. You ought to write to him."

Georgiana flushed, "Wickham does not want me to. They are so jealous of each other. Bingley, maybe he would listen to you. Please, please beg Fitzwilliam to do anything to reconcile with my husband. I want us to be a family again, like when we all were young. He may listen to you."

"I shall tell him what you said." Bingley looked uncomfortable. Elizabeth knew there was little chance he would encourage Darcy to seek Wickham's friendship. "In any case, Darcy doesn't listen to me unless he wants to. The stubborn fool."

MDVMDVMDV

Jane and Elizabeth called on Mrs. Wickham the next morning, and she eagerly introduced them to her husband. The bows were made, and Wickham kissed both Jane and Elizabeth's hands. "My dear Georgie had not described how very beautiful you both are — but then, words cannot describe such loveliness."

There was something in his eyes and manner of holding himself that infused the trite phrases with charm. Jane blushed while Elizabeth frowned.

He had married a vastly wealthier girl of fifteen without her family's consent. He was a fortune hunter. The fact that Darcy despised Mr. Wickham only obligated Elizabeth more strongly to hate him.

Wickham continued, "Georgie told me that you both have recently been in the presence of my dear _brother_ — Mrs. Bingley I congratulate you — you look almost as happy in your marriage as I am in mine. Your husband is a lucky man — how did my dear brother appear?"

Elizabeth replied sharply, " _Mr. Darcy_ appeared _very_ well — in the best of spirits and good health."

"Did he? I believed you told Georgie the opposite. Does my brother never talk of me?"

"I have heard enough about _you_ from him."

Georgiana seized Wickham's arm and said, "Please, please — do not quarrel. Miss Bennet, you see how jealous they are of each other."

"I do see your husband." At the unhappy look in Georgiana's eyes, Elizabeth sighed and stuck her hand out to Wickham with a false smile. "I hope we shall not be enemies."

"I wish to be friends with any woman as pretty as you, Miss Bennet. It is good that my brother has a woman willing to defend him fiercely." Wickham scratched at his cheek. "I truly had no idea he could inspire loyalty. How have you enjoyed the seaside? The weather has been excellent for this early in the season. It has been pleasant and warm of late. Not too much rain most days."

Elizabeth snapped back, "I would prefer it to be cold and rainy. It would be more picturesque."

Mr. Wickham smiled easily. "I apologize, Miss Bennet — it has been awful weather of late, far too pleasant and warm and not nearly enough gray drizzles."

Elizabeth blushed and smiled against her will. He had appeared to be a charming man before she knew who he was; he was still a charming man. However, Elizabeth would not forget what he had done.

At last Wickham left to meet friends in town. Elizabeth was glad to see him go. It was time for the call to end, and Jane needed to make another call this morning on an acquaintance. However, Elizabeth could see how depressed Georgiana was at the prospect of being alone again, so Elizabeth begged Georgiana to take a walk with her.

The two exited the substantial cottage. Georgiana and Wickham lived on the opposite side of town from the Bingleys. Grass was growing, and plants bloomed everywhere. It was overcast today, and the air had a pleasant chill that was warded off by their jackets and cloaks. A hawk hung circling in the air, and flocks of seabirds flapped to and fro across the skies.

It was an odd coincidence that Elizabeth would travel to Ramsgate to escape the memory of Darcy and then meet his sister in the seaside town.

"Miss Bennet, please tell me how you met my brother."

Elizabeth smiled at the memory of that first night and Darcy's prickly behavior and gruff insult. "Mr. Bingley had just taken Netherfield, which is a mere three miles from my house. Now he had invited your brother to stay with him and dragged Mr. Darcy to the assembly ball. Have you ever seen your brother at a ball?"

"No — does he cut a handsome figure?"

"Quite the opposite. He is handsome enough, but he is not fond of dancing — which is a horrid sin at such an assembly. He stood about the edge of the room as though he were frightened someone would have the temerity to talk to him."

Georgiana giggled. "That does not sound like Fitzwilliam. He can be intimidating."

"Which is why no one talked to him. There were several young ladies at this assembly who did not have partners, as not enough gentlemen attended the ball. I, in fact, was one of those ladies. Bingley approached your brother to encourage him to do his duty and ask a young lady to dance — I was seated behind Mr. Darcy and could hear the conversation — Bingley suggested he be introduced to me. Can you guess what your brother said next? I assure you — it shall shock you horribly."

"He offered to dance… and you have been friends ever since?" Georgiana's hesitant manner showed that she knew _that_ was not a shocking story.

"Ha! He should have done so. No, he turned and looked me up and down and then said to Bingley, 'she is handsome enough, I suppose, but she does not tempt _me_.'"

"No!" Georgiana gasped. "That was awful of him. I shall lecture him most severely when next I see him. How did you become his friend after _that_ beginning?"

"He made a pretty apology the next time we met, which was when we were properly introduced. I'd perceived he was uncomfortable at the assembly ball and did not take undue offense. He is sensible and intelligent. And loyal and kind. Once I knew him, I… you know that his virtues are great."

"I do."

"Now, Georgiana — do you mind if I call you by your Christian name? We've only known each other such a short time, but I wish we could be like sisters."

Georgiana's face blossomed into a happy smile. "I would like that very much indeed. Oh — so very much. It has been so lonely — I cannot be with George all the time, and he is… not a woman; will you promise to correspond after you leave Ramsgate? And — might I call you Elizabeth."

"You shall call me Lizzy, that is what my sisters call me."

"Oh. Thank you, thank you — Lizzy."

"It is my turn to ask a question. Tell me a story about your brother."

Georgiana was bubbly and talkative. Like her brother, she was easy with those who she trusted and liked speaking to. Elizabeth relished the several hours spent conversing with her. She liked the naïve girl for her own sake, and not just Mr. Darcy's.


	21. Chapter 21

The next morning, Elizabeth had dressed to take a walk along the seashore before breakfast when she heard a commotion from the entry hall. Georgiana trembled in the doorway, speaking to the butler. She looked awful: Her eyes were bloodshot, and her hair was half in a bun and half loose. She had thrown a shawl over her shoulders to protect against the morning chill without arranging the folds.

Her hands flapped nervously. "I must, I must, I must see Miss Bennet. Miss Bennet. I must speak to her, I know it is early, I know it is too early — please, please, please."

She saw Elizabeth from the corner of her eye and rushed up to Elizabeth and threw her arms around Elizabeth. "I ruined everything, everything is ruined. It is all wrong, it's all wrong. Oh, oh, oh."

Georgiana's voice trailed off piteously, and she cried. Elizabeth gestured with her head for the butler to leave them and sat Georgiana in one of the green padded chairs along the wall. Elizabeth held Georgiana and let her cry into her shoulder. She kissed the younger girl's forehead and slowly rubbed warm circles into her back.

At last Elizabeth asked anxiously, "Whatever has happened?"

Georgiana attempted to reply without bringing her head up, but she stuttered out unintelligible mumbles and burst into tears again. Had Wickham hurt her? Darcy had worried greatly about how Wickham would treat his sister.

"You and Bingley are right. Fitzwilliam was right. He has spent so much. Gambling." Georgiana hiccuped. "Oh! If only I had not looked. Then I would be a good wife and not deserve this."

Elizabeth patted Georgiana. "Do not be ridiculous, it is better to know."

"I doubted him," she wailed. "It would not leave my mind. I tried to push the worry away, but I did not know. I… I had some idea what we've spent on house and clothes, so I went to our banker's office to find what else has been spent. I knew I should not; I felt terribly guilty, but I was sure I would see he had spent nothing unreasonable."

Elizabeth pushed Georgiana's face up, so she could look more closely at the girl. "But he had?"

"Four thousand pounds! He has spent four thousand pounds since we married. Four thousand. My brother never spends near that amount in an entire year to manage Pemberley. Fitzwilliam is austere, certainly, but Pemberley is a huge house. I thought, perhaps… maybe he had loaned the money to a friend who would be good for it, or made some investment, or at least used it for a noble purpose."

Georgiana looked away from Elizabeth and worried with her fingers at the fabric of her shawl. "Mr. von Polder, he pitied me. I could see it. I was too unsettled to return home, so instead I walked along the promenade for more than an hour. I returned to ask Wickham, though I was not sure if I would say anything — a wife ought to trust her husband."

The young woman gripped Elizabeth's arm tightly. "Shouldn't I have trusted him? If a wife cannot trust her husband, what point is love? I wish I had — oh, I wish I had."

Georgiana continued, "Wickham had already left to visit with his friends. I waited up for him. And waited. It struck past midnight, and he had not returned. I became worried and anxious, yet… I wondered if he always stayed out so late. I did not sleep a wink. Could not sleep. I have not yet slept, not since yesterday. I had not known he stayed out so late — I knew he preferred to sleep in mornings.

"At last, when dawn had almost broken, he stumbled over the entryway. He stunk of gin. I should not have — I do not want to be a bad, nagging wife — I screeched at him. I said he hated me and had married me only for my money. I said so many awful things. And they cannot be true — he just gambles. He swears he hasn't been spending our money upon…" Georgiana gestured vaguely with a bright blush. "You know. Those… women. I did not mean it when I accused him of that. I swear I did not — I love my darling. I know he would never betray me. But I was angry, and nervous, and unhappy."

"How… how did Mr. Wickham respond?" Elizabeth's eyes scanned worriedly, looking for signs that he may have struck her. There were none.

"He apologized. He admitted he had been gambling. He said sweet things, very sweet things. He promised he would never do it again, and he swore he loved me. I know he will never play cards again — George loves me too much to break such a promise. I know that, but I kept… I kept accusing him. That's how it became ruined. I said — I know how jealous he is of Fitzwilliam, just as Fitzwilliam was jealous of him — so I said I — I said I wished he was like Fitzwilliam — I said I would run away and leave him and return to my brother. Oh, I should not have said that to him. He needs me to love him no matter what, and I do. Fitzwilliam is not better than George; they are both the best of men."

Georgiana's still unbroken trust in Wickham's goodness hurt to hear. That horrid man. Damn him. Darcy was ten times — no, a thousand times — the man Wickham was. Elizabeth did not voice that thought; it would be a selfish expression of her own emotions and only hurt Georgiana further.

"How did he reply?"

"Oh. Oh — he said nothing. He flinched and his face grew cold. He sneered at me with a look. A look such as he never has shown me. Then without a word he left the room. He locked himself in his chambers, and I've not seen him since. He must hate me now. He must. I said the most awful thing I could to hurt him. I went to the drawing room and paced and played a song. Then I came here — I have no other friends. And though we've only known each other a few days, there is no one else who I can speak to. I've been in agony. Will he hate me always?"

Elizabeth embraced Georgiana again and murmured comforting nothings as the girl cried. Her mind raced. What could she say to such a deluded — yet kind and likable — girl. If Jane had married such a man, she would have spoken as highly of his virtues. Though, her sister was too wise to be caught by such a creature.

Any need to speak something of substance was postponed when Georgiana's sobs ceased, and she began to snore lightly against Elizabeth's chest. Elizabeth hoped to not wake the poor girl, so she quietly tapped her hand against the wall until she caught the attention of a maid who silently brought the butler followed by Jane and Bingley.

Jane rushed forward and examined Georgiana with worried sympathy. "The poor girl, what occurred?"

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows and grimaced. It was not her place to repeat Georgiana's story, but Jane rapidly bobbed her head to show she understood the essentials of the matter. The four of them took Georgiana to an empty guest bedroom on the first floor and left her alone to sleep.

They went to the breakfast room, and the maid brought a plate of food from the kitchen and set it in front of Elizabeth.

Jane said, "We ate while you spoke with Mrs. Wickham — there was no way to tell how long you would be. We had planned to walk out — should we stay until Mrs. Wickham awakes?"

Elizabeth gave a half smile and made a shooing gesture. "Go, go. I can manage to eat a few rolls and some ham alone. Enjoy yourselves. Mrs. Wickham will not wake for some time — she has not slept since yesterday night."

"Georgiana's brother is my dearest friend" — Bingley brought his shoulders back and stood tall — "if her husband has abused her —"

Jane appeared shocked at the suggestion. Elizabeth gestured disagreement. "He didn't hurt her that way. Not that. It was… I should not break her confidence. He has not hit her; he is not carrying on an affair with another woman… likely you can guess what the matter is."

"Hmph. Gambling. That damned man — I apologize, I ought not speak so in front of ladies. But that man exploited the naivety of such a sweet and kind girl as Miss Darcy — when I think how his greed hurt my friend…" Bingley clenched his teeth together. "Are you certain, entirely certain, we should not stay till she wakes?"

"It is nearly sure you will return before she does. I shall stay here since one of the family ought to be present."

"Well. I'll tell Georgiana that if she wishes protection from her husband, we'll not let him take her."

Elizabeth pushed the food away; she wasn't hungry. "She doesn't — she is still devoted to Mr. Wickham."

Jane said, "I do not believe that Mr. Wickham is nearly so bad as you think. Mrs. Wickham would not have such a sincere attachment to him if he were."

"Georgiana is very young and in love." Elizabeth shook her head. "No such person is sensible — just go. Enjoy your walk. I… I wish to think about Mrs. Wickham's story."

Jane and Bingley set off. Their faces were uncharacteristically somber. Elizabeth went to the window to watch them walk along the avenue which fronted the sandy beach. They spoke together in a frowning manner, and Bingley occasionally punched his hand.

Oh! If only something could be done to save Georgiana from that horrid man.

Elizabeth rang the bell to call the maid back in. She pointed at the plate of food on the table. "I can't — not today. It smells… Just remove it."

The maid deferentially curtsied and took the plate away.

Elizabeth retired to the drawing room. Nothing could be done.

Nothing.

Georgiana's blind faith in the virtue of her husband would not last. It had already started to break. The girl would be impoverished, and Mr. Darcy would be forced to support her again. He would give them enough to live, no matter how he hated Wickham.

Damn Wickham.

Hopefully, he would conveniently die like a character in a novel.

That was an unchristian wish, but Elizabeth was no perfect Christian. Her passions ran too hot, with Darcy and now with his sister. She'd already come to love Georgiana. The girl's foolishness was no barrier to her shy appeal.

Wickham's death was the only way Elizabeth saw for Georgiana's happiness to be established. Even that would leave her a widow with a child and a scandalous past.

Raised voices sounded in the hallway. Elizabeth stood, but before she could decipher the noises the red door of the drawing room was opened. Without making any bow, the butler introduced the grinning Mr. Wickham.

"My darling Miss Bennet, you look truly delightful this morning. The drape of that dress is perfect, and I believe it has the prettiest shade of lilac I've ever seen. Might I ask where you acquired that lace? I would like to purchase some for my dear Georgie as a gift."

His teeth were perfect. His bow was perfect. Mr. Wickham wore pants with straps beneath the feet to force them to always fall in a perfect line. He looked like he had stepped out of a fashion plate. His only imperfection was puffiness visible around the eyes. Even that was hard to see, as he'd disguised it with makeup.

The worthless gambler's eyes should be scratched out.

Elizabeth's cold stare did not take Mr. Wickham aback at all. "I have been informed that my wife is present in your delightful domicile — I swear I would've stolen it out from under your brother's feet had I known such fine apartments could be had for rent in this town — might you conduct me to Georgiana?"

"She sleeps. Her night was trying. I shall not see her woken."

Mr. Wickham hummed in response and tapped his elegant gold tipped cane softly on the floor. "I must insist. I do thank you for your concern, but Mrs. Wickham's place is with me."

"Have you no human feeling? None?"

An easy smile settled over Wickham's sharp handsome face. "I hardly can reply to such a statement without some better sense of what prompted it. My feelings are entirely human."

"They are demonic! You are a vile worthless thing that rose from a fairy tale to eat the souls of young women. You destroyed a sweet girl to steal her money and achieve vengeance against her brother for something he was right to do."

"A soul eating monster from a fairy tale?" Mr. Wickham smirked. "Why, Miss Bennet, you are wholly charming. The anger brings a beautiful light to your eyes. From your behavior, I wonder if you have developed an affection for me."

Elizabeth's fingers curled into claws, and she bared her teeth at him.

Wickham continued, "I am afraid that I must disappoint you — you are beautiful and tempting, but I am devoted to my dearest Georgiana."

"Mr. Darcy is a thousand times the man you are. She will realize that. Anyone would. You'll see it in her eyes — when she comes to despise you for being a worse man than Darcy. You'll see it every day until she leaves you once you've destroyed everything."

Wickham's face went red. "You love him. I thought so. Well he'll disappoint you worse than I will Georgie — he _can't_ love anything but his fucking money and his fucking estate. Did you sell yourself to him as a whore? Or was he too cheap to buy you?"

Elizabeth flinched.

"Ha! He _was_ too cheap to buy you. Or did you set too high a price on yourself? I wish his loneliness would make him miserable, but it can't because _he_ has no human feelings. Now, _where is my wife_."

"I shall not bring you to her."

"She is mine. My wife. I know she wishes to see me. If you do not bring me to where you have secreted her, I shall bring the law against you."

"You are a thief. A worthless man who can only take from his betters. You stole _his_ sister, you stole her money, you steal and steal and —"

"I took what was mine by right. There was no theft — it ought to have been mine. I ought to have been his son. Not Darcy. Not the heartless prig who always despised him — Mr. George Darcy was the greatest gentleman to ever live, and _your_ Fitz pissed on his love and on his memory. Georgiana — our marriage, our connection. It makes things as they always ought to have been. I now am his son. He now has a son who keeps his memory alive with affection and respect."

"You married Georgiana because it would make you the son-in-law of Darcy's father? That is your excuse for seducing a defenseless girl? That you were supposed to be his son? Methinks it was the money."

"That was _his_ money. It belongs by every _moral_ right to those who loved him, not to one who hates his memory."

"The estate, I understand, is unentailed; had George Darcy agreed with you, he did not _need_ to leave it to his son. He could have altered his will."

Wickham sneered. "And be made a laughing stock? He never saw what Fitz truly is. He never saw the heartless man who cared for nothing. Fitz destroyed Pemberley for money. I saw the park a year ago. He… he _cut_ the trees for money. He built a damned _mill_ and blocked the stream. The most beautiful estate in England is gone. All that remains is a monument to Fitz's desperate greed. If my dear, dear godfather knew what Fitz would do, he _would_ have left the estate to me."

Elizabeth stared at Wickham, open mouthed and befuddled. He certainly seemed sincere in his affection for Darcy's father. "If you loved your godfather so much, should you not have shown concern for his daughter's well-being? You have ruined her life and now rapidly throw all of her money away."

"I care for Georgiana. I do. She is _his_ daughter. I played with her as a child. How could I not love her? It is as her husband that I am his son, not just in heart but also in law. She is happy as my wife, and I show her every affection and tenderness."

"Yes, but… why? Why then…" Elizabeth's anger was disarmed by the sincerity in Wickham's tone. He did not feel what he ought — he cared more for Georgiana as a connection to his lost godfather than for herself — yet Elizabeth could not deny that he cared for more than Georgiana's wealth. "Why do you…?"

"Gamble, waste my father's money? Why do I follow a course which will condemn us both to poverty? You think the worst of me. Yet, even you cannot believe I _wish_ to be poor. Look at these clothes." Mr. Wickham stepped back and held his arms out so that she could examine him freely. "My coat and pants cost the best part of fifty pounds. I like to dress well, and I know what it is like to have nothing. I hate that it shall happen again."

Wickham paced. "I cannot stop. I thought when I married her I would no longer act so. Yet one evening I played cards for a small sum and lost — I could not stop myself. I became desperate to win it back. Since then" — Wickham stopped pacing and held his hands out — "Nothing I do, nothing I say to myself, keeps me from the tables. I have tried — believe that. No matter how I despise myself after an evening, within a day or two I make a new bet with some friend or acquaintance."

Elizabeth's disdain must have shown in her expression, for he exclaimed, "You have no right to judge me. You have not felt it. You have never felt your own body turn traitor; you never have watched your determination to do right be mined under by insidious words coming from your inner self; you have not felt that endless pull. You cannot judge me. I do not accept it. You are a self-righteous prig like Darcy."

Elizabeth replied, "Darcy would not act as you have. I do have knowledge enough to condemn you as a tenth the man he is. She will too; she will learn to despise you as you deserve."

"Despise me as I deserve? Did I deserve to have this worm in my skull that drives me to destroy myself? Do I deserve to be despised for my inability to kill it? I pray every night for it to die. She will despise me. I saw it in her eyes last night when she accused me of being less than him. It is inevitable. I shall be poor again, and she will choose to run to _him_. To take my child with her, but I'll not allow it. I'll kill her and the babe and then shoot myself. I will die as George Darcy's son. I swear that."

The wild firmness in Wickham's eyes made it impossible for Elizabeth to doubt him. Her horror at Georgiana's likely fate stole her breath.

"Ha! I've shocked you now. Will you take me to my wife? Or must I barge through the rooms?"

When Elizabeth made no reply Wickham turned to exit. Before he reached the door, Elizabeth shouted, "Wait." When he paused Elizabeth's mind raced quickly with the beginning of an idea. "You cannot wish this to be your fate. You must desire some other path."

"There is none," Wickham's voice was dead, "I do not believe any human art can stop such beastly compulsions. It is the price of Adam's sin."

Elizabeth dismissed Wickham's words. If he truly desired to stop, he would. Yet there was an edge of doubt in her mind. Her pursuit of Darcy had been selfish, yet even now, if there had been some hope, she would not have been able to resist the deep need in her soul for him.

"Perhaps _you_ cannot stop yourself from gambling, but you can make it impossible to do so. If you had married properly, the money would be under the protection of a settlement. It would be impossible to gamble away more than the quarterly payments. You might enter debts, but they could only be collected out of your income."

"You suggest I give my money away, lock it aside, so I cannot lose it?" Wickham's voice was half dismissive, half intrigued.

"It should have been settled on Georgiana. You claim to love her. Don't you wish to ensure _her_ well-being? It is like an entailment to protect an estate. Your situation will appear more respectable."

"But _I_ would no longer have the money."

"You and Georgiana are married. What is hers is truly yours." Elizabeth suddenly saw how to convince him.

She hoped she had read Mr. Wickham's mind right. "You hate Mr. Darcy, and he despises you. But more you wish to truly be George Darcy's son. If Mr. Darcy — you wish him to acknowledge you as his brother. Don't you wish _Fitz_ would say that you are part of the Darcy family and belong? Make him the trustee of the settlement, but only if he embraces you as a brother. He will. You know he will. He always does his duty. But he will hate the need."

Wickham's cane tapped a rhythm on the floor; he leaned back in his chair, so its wooden back was supported by the card table. A malicious smile grew on Wickham's face, and he laughed. "It is perfect; it is brilliant." His laughter roared. "Fitz. I shall make Fitz shake my hand as an equal if he wishes his sister's fortune to be protected. 'Tis perfect. I will make him smile and pretend to like me. It shall burn in his stomach."

Wickham laughed again, long and loud.


	22. Chapter 22

Bingley sent Darcy a letter which explained that if Darcy would fully acknowledge Wickham and recognize him in society, Wickham promised to settle what remained of Georgiana's fortune irrevocably upon her and heirs of her body, however retaining a lifetime interest in the income for himself should she predecease him.

Elizabeth wondered if Bingley's letter told Darcy that she was there. Maybe she should leave Ramsgate to avoid meeting him.

For the next week the Wickhams and Bingleys spent most of their time together. Georgiana was desperate for female companionship, and both Jane and Elizabeth took to her. Most days she would call at Jane and Bingley's house and stay for hours at a time.

Mr. Bingley played cards with Wickham every night to prevent him from losing any more of Georgiana's fortune before it could be made inaccessible. Bingley returned from late nights where both men drank a great deal flushed with money he planned to return to Georgiana. While an avid gambler, and a decent bluff, Wickham was always too aggressive and had only a mediocre head for numbers.

A week after Georgiana discovered Wickham's gambling, she had come early in the morning while Mr. Wickham still slept. A little past noon everyone had gathered in the drawing room, and Georgiana played a fast piece of music while Elizabeth, Jane, and Bingley danced a jig, switching between a circle and holding each other's hands.

They stopped when a knock struck the door.

The butler ushered Mr. Darcy into the room.

Elizabeth's heart stopped when his eyes searched for her first. She tried to pull her eyes away as the skittering beats raced to catch up after their pause. He looked fine: his figure, his eyes, his hair.

Where he stood glowed.

Georgiana jumped from the piano and rushed to Darcy, embracing him tightly. It broke the gaze between Elizabeth and Darcy. He patted Georgiana down and looked her over carefully.

Elizabeth examined him. His coat hung a little looser on him. Darcy hadn't been so thin before. There were bags under his eyes. Anxiety twisted Elizabeth's gut. Had Mr. Darcy been sick?

Georgiana sobbed. "I hurt you! I hurt you — Forgive me, I hurt you."

"Oh, Georgie, do not worry about _me_. Not now, I shall love you no matter what."

"George? Did you see him? Are things well between you? Are we truly family now?"

Elizabeth listened intently to Darcy, hoping to hear in his voice how he truly felt. He had an odd expression. "Things are well. We shook hands and declared ourselves brothers."

"I am so glad." Georgiana embraced Darcy tightly again. "I love you both."

"And we both… we both love you."

Elizabeth wondered what Darcy saw when he studied Georgiana's face. He seized his sister in a tight, but careful embrace. "I missed you. I missed you so — I feared I might never see you again."

Elizabeth choked with a deep emotion at seeing this reunion. She had arranged this. It made the way she'd acted better. As Darcy embraced Georgiana, his eyes looked around the room and met Elizabeth's. She smiled tearily at him.

When Georgiana and Darcy at last let go, Bingley heartily shook Darcy's hand. "It is extremely good to see you again, and so soon."

"You as well."

Jane also greeted Darcy, but Elizabeth stayed in the background. She needed to leave the room. He came to the Bingleys' house because he was so eager to see Georgiana; even though he likely knew she was there. Elizabeth would not attempt to claim a friendship with him again.

Darcy smiled at her and walked forward with his hand out. She numbly let him take her hand and shake it. "I understand" — he hesitated — "I have _you_ to thank for my present reconciliation with my sister."

"I did nothing." Elizabeth could not meet his eyes. There was a look in them that reminded her of happier times. She could not look.

"That is not what I understood from Mr. Wickham. He said the idea of settling the funds for my sister and making me the trustee was yours. I know you are too modest."

"That is not true. You know I am not modest. Do not say I am modest." Elizabeth remembered wantonly pressing herself against him, trying to seduce him. She bit her lip and forced herself to smile in Darcy's direction. "Do not thank me for your present reconciliation with Georgiana, rather thank me for your reconciliation with your _brother_."

Darcy smiled, but his eyes were concerned — oh, she should have run from the room the instant he entered.

"Oh yes, you must thank her!" Georgiana exclaimed, "Lizzy has been the best friend to us all. I like her very much."

Though she tried to lower her gaze so he could not, Darcy caught Elizabeth's eye and warmly smiled in a manner Elizabeth instinctually returned. "Then I thank you for all the _joy_ accepting Wickham as my brother brings me. It was your doing."

Elizabeth almost giggled despite herself and placed her fingers briefly over her lips. Elizabeth said, "It has been so long — we must give you privacy."

She fled the room before Darcy could say anything, half pushing Jane and Bingley along with her.

Jane tried to ask Elizabeth how she felt about seeing Darcy again, but Elizabeth did not answer and ran outside to sit in the garden and watch the waves.

At least he didn't hate her.

He was so handsome, and none of the charm and kindness of his manner had dissipated. She wished she didn't still love him. Eventually this need would dissipate. She'd already become happy again. She had already accepted that he had been right to reject her.

It hurt to see him again.

Eventually, the party in the house joined Elizabeth in the garden. Darcy held Georgiana's arm and he looked content. His eyes sought hers, and he smiled in a hesitant manner that seemed to be begging permission to smile at her.

Elizabeth stood, and Georgiana embraced her. "I am so happy — thank you, thank you, thank you."

While the women held each other, Bingley said to Darcy, "We must talk — you and I. I'm glad that you will stay with your sister and _brother_ — I am tired of keeping an eye on Wickham — for a man who plays cards so much, he is not very good — but once you have settled yourself, walk by this evening for supper so we can talk."

"I will."

Anxiety stabbed at Elizabeth's chest. If she spent any great amount of time with Darcy, he would see how desperately she still loved him. She could not beg Jane and Bingley to take her to Charlotte earlier, because then Georgiana would wonder, and Elizabeth did not want her new friend to hear the story.

Darcy took Elizabeth's hand and opened his mouth to speak something to her but instead squeezed her hand and departed with one last enigmatic look.

Once Georgiana and Darcy were out of earshot, Jane turned to Elizabeth and asked, "Lizzy — are you well?" She looked at her husband and added with a frown, "Charles will meet _his_ friend in a room at the inn if you would be more comfortable."

Bingley smacked himself on the forehead. "Of course — I have behaved as a dunce — I will send a messenger immediately to say —"

"No!" Elizabeth shook her head sharply. "I do not wish to make things awkward — I do not want Georgiana to learn — I do not want… Please, Darcy has made his sentiments clear to me. He will not toy with me. I accept his choice. I beg you, can we pretend as though nothing has happened?"

Jane said in a crooning voice, "But it has happened. You _are_ unhappy."

"I am happy — I told you I have accepted his choice. I shall only be unhappy if you make a great mountain out of nothing. Besides, it does not matter. No doubt his visit will consist of you" — Elizabeth pointed to Bingley — "and him sitting in the study drinking whiskey and talking about boring matters."

At last to Jane and Bingley left her alone.

Elizabeth settled gratefully back into her favorite lounge chair. There was a hint of rotting seaweed and fish on the breeze. Oddly it was a pleasant smell. She loved the crashing surf. The green waves swelled and then broke into white crests of surf. Elizabeth reached out and fingered the leather bound cover of the novel on the small table next to her.

She had rescued Georgiana from a horrid fate. _That_ was cause to celebrate. Darcy had looked so happy. Their reunion had been a touching scene.

His eyes when he looked at her. He had been grateful and friendly. Perhaps he now felt secure enough that he did not need to flee, but it was painful to see him again.

Far sooner than Elizabeth expected possible, Darcy strode up the avenue.

He stood next to the low green fence which bordered the garden, one hand falling lightly on a post. The tail of his coat fluttered in the breeze, and the other hand kept his beaver hat firmly on his head. For a seeming eternity they looked at each other, and then Darcy hopped over the fence and confidently walked to her.

Elizabeth stood up to greet him, and before Darcy could say anything, she burst out, "I treated you abominably. My behavior was immoral, selfish, shameful and… and wrong."

"Elizabeth —" He shook his head.

"You made your choice. You… I should not have… I shamed myself. I should not have hounded you once you decided I wasn't… that you wouldn't — it was your right to reject me, and… I should have —"

"You did nothing wrong."

"I did. I tried to make you betray the promises you had made to yourself. I never should have tried to seduce you."

"Will you marry me?"

Elizabeth blinked at Darcy. He had not just said that.

"Elizabeth, I have been miserable. I missed you, I could not cease thinking about you — I cannot walk away again. I will not. Elizabeth will you —"

"No!" Elizabeth breathed heavily. The wind had flopped a long lock of Darcy's hair onto his forehead. "You would regret it. You know you would — a marriage to me — marrying me would be contrary to your interests, your judgment, your habits of life."

"I no longer care. I need you. I love you. It may be wrong, but I cannot —"

"You are overwrought — passion has overcome your reason. But your reason shall return again, and you would regret marrying me."

"I never could regret making you happy."

"And I could not be happy if you ignored your reason and principles." Elizabeth added bitterly, "You now have only one thought on your mind. But if my allurements drew you to make a miserable mistake — I would not be happy — I once believed I would, but I was a fool then."

"Elizabeth, it is not your person, but your soul which I need. We need each other. To be happy. I cannot be happy without you."

"Do not say that. Happiness is a choice. I did not spent much time miserable because I chose not to be. You can make that same choice."

"I do not wish to make it. I do not wish to be happy without you."

"Mr. Darcy! Be the man you have always chosen to be. You are a man who does what is right, no matter how much you might wish to do otherwise. Be that man now."

"I am not so good as you think. I am not a man who can walk away from you again."

"You must. I would bring you no money, and you know you must marry a woman with a fortune."

"You have saved Georgiana, I… I owe you what remains of her fortune. So you have brought me a fortune. Do not claim to be penniless. You are worth every fortune. I was a fool, a damned fool, to not see that before. I have cursed myself since I walked away from you."

"Mr. Darcy, I will not marry you. I still care for your interests, even if you have forgotten them. You will thank me eventually."

"What matters a fortune if a man be not happy? Elizabeth, I love you."

It hurt to refuse him again and again. Tears popped into Elizabeth's eyes. "I beg you — if you love me — I beg you to cease importuning me. Can you not see that it hurts me to refuse you?"

Darcy's blue eyes pierced her as he studied her face. Then without any dejection in his posture he nodded. "I will speak no more for now. But my sentiments will not change." He gestured for her to sit back down, and he pulled another chair near to sit in himself. "Has your stay in Ramsgate been pleasant, Miss Bennet? I can see you have loved the seaside. I dearly wish to hear your every observation."

Elizabeth shook her head and did not sit. "We cannot be friends, so long as we are near, you will never — the infatuation that has destroyed your reason will never end. You must marry. You must marry an heiress. You know you must, if you do not… If you do not, there is no purpose to… to my giving up what we have together."

"I cannot marry another. I love you. To do that, it would betray my own soul. I never could."

"That is why I must leave. We cannot be friends." Pain flared in her stomach, and she stared at Darcy. His face was tortured. She needed to leave.

Darcy's hand snapped out and grabbed Elizabeth's wrist, preventing her from walking away. They stared at each other; Darcy's pained blue eyes studied Elizabeth's.

Elizabeth started to pull her hand from his grasp. Darcy gasped out. "I promise! I only wish to be your friend. Do not leave, I shall marry an heiress. We can be friends."

Elizabeth could see Darcy was breathing heavily. His grip on her wrist was so tight it almost hurt. His voice was desperate. _I shall marry an heiress_. Elizabeth's shoulders slumped; she felt a tearing horror at the thought he would give up on her. There was something wild in Darcy's eyes.

Elizabeth nodded her head and sat down on the edge of the wicker chair. She was breathing hard as well. This was what she had demanded. It was what was best for him. Elizabeth closed her eyes and exhaled.

"No." Darcy's strong voice made Elizabeth's eyes snap open. His face had firmed and he now looked certain again. "That is not true. You may run from me, but I will not lie to you. I have never lied to a woman. I shall never marry another. Never. I could not marry another woman while I love you, and I cannot cease to love you."

"Then we must part." She did not try to rise or remove her hand from his.

"No. We must — marry me, Elizabeth. It matters not that — every other concern in my mind is gone. I only care for your happiness and company."

Elizabeth felt like she was trapped in a desert, dying of thirst, and his eyes were an oasis.

Elizabeth nearly said yes.

Then she remembered that eerie voice: _Madam. I cannot_. He had rejected her. And now he thought he could just change his mind, and then she'd kiss and embrace him again. Elizabeth shrieked, "You'll change your mind. You'll change it again."

Darcy flinched, and he released Elizabeth's wrist. Her arm missed his touch. He covered his mouth with his hand. "I understand."

"I showed you _everything_! I — I kissed you! Have you any idea how shamed I was when you rejected me? How… how —" She wished to lash out and punch those pretty eyes. "We were seen by a servant."

Darcy winced.

"Yes. A servant saw us. Have you any idea how angry my father was, what everyone said — " Darcy looked stricken and guilty. Good. Elizabeth hadn't been hurt by that, but she wanted him to think she had. "You planned to marry me. I felt it in your lips. I thought you cared for me. And then you changed your mind. When are you going to stick to a decision?"

Darcy stared at her, and she stared back. Her heart raced; she expected him to be offended by what she had said. Instead he almost looked pleased.

"You… damn you. How can you expect me to _trust_ you?"

"I do not. Not yet. You shall see. Eventually you will accept that I have made my final choice. You are right to be angry. I hurt you terribly."

Elizabeth could not say anything. It was impossible to look away from the firm line of his face and the deep pools of his eyes. Darcy took one of her hands in both of his. They were warm and big.

He added, "I have been indecisive. But once committed, I do not waver. I shall follow you, so long as you care for me, I shall be near. When you change your mind, I shall be there. And if you force me to leave your presence, my soul will still seek yours out. My heart shall be absent from mine body and present where you reside."

"You cannot say that. You do not know how you shall feel in the future." She should force herself up. She should leave. She was decided; she would not marry him. He would regret it, and then they would both become miserable. He still thought he was making a mistake, and he would hate her eventually if they married. She should not pretend to be his friend. It was wrong, very wrong. She should leave him no hope.

"I love you. It is the firm, permanent truth."

"We can be friends; it would be awkward to run — you must promise me — promise me that if you have an opportunity to marry an heiress of good character, you shall at least think on it."

Darcy was silent; he continued to hold her hand. A twisted smile grew on Darcy's face. "Elizabeth, that is a ridiculous demand. What, _precisely_ , comprises thinking about marrying this heiress who is not you? My affection for you shall not change."

He rubbed her hand between both of his. His fingers were muscular. He had small callouses where he held a quill and others where he held the reins of his horse. She did not draw back. Darcy ran a thumb over the skin of her wrist. It sent little shivers up her arms.

The heart pounding tension of the previous minutes drained away, leaving Elizabeth empty. His smile and words reminded her why she loved him. It was so comfortable to sit and let him massage her fingers.

"Well?" Darcy encouraged Elizabeth. He smiled again.

She smiled back. "I suppose you must ask yourself if those high sounding words are your true opinion still."

"I can promise to ask myself again if my heart still resides in your breast." Darcy's voice was soft, "I know it always shall."

Elizabeth forcefully pulled her hand from Darcy's grip. He was sending flutters through her stomach. "If we are to be friends, you must not seek to make love to me at every opportunity. We can be friends, but I cannot marry you. I cannot. Even if you do not waver, you still think it would be a mistake to marry me. Contrary to your goals and character."

"It is not contrary to my character or goals. I had mistaken who I am."

Elizabeth sighed.

"Very well," Darcy said. "I shall not make love to you frequently, but we shall talk a great deal. We are friends."


	23. Chapter 23

Darcy punched his pillow to fluff it again. He could not sleep. The bed in Georgiana's guest room was comfortable, but Darcy's mind was too full of plans and worries. When he'd seen Elizabeth again all of the misery and loneliness had dissolved. Her form had glowed bright in his eye and he had been home again. He belonged where she was.

Ever since he'd left her, Darcy had been lethargic and empty. He'd gone home to Pemberley and sat in his office staring at the land he had desperately defended. It no longer mattered to him. He simply didn't care anymore. Protecting the estate, reducing his debts, living the life he had chosen — an empty series of meaningless motions he would endlessly act out until he at last died.

Then he received Bingley's letter about Georgiana. He could protect his sister at the cost of his dignity. Wickham had never understood — those he cared for mattered far more than family name or honor. Of course he would. He would see Elizabeth again.

It had been as though he was struck by a lightning bolt. Everything changed, and he _knew_ what mattered most to him in life was her.

She'd refused him, but Elizabeth's words and manner proclaimed that she still loved him. Darcy could be almost inhumanly patient. So long as he had her love, he could endure any wait. However long it took for her to trust their bond again, for it to grow stronger and tighter than ever before, he would wait.

But _how_ should he act tomorrow?

Darcy's planning was interrupted when he heard from the wall a hushed anxious whisper. "No. No — Fitzwilliam is in the next room, he might hear."

The bed in the next room creaked and Georgiana giggled and shrieked out, "Stop that!" She then added in a hushed voice, "I'm serious — I would kill myself with shame if my brother heard us."

"Do not worry," Wickham spoke in a confident voice. "I had the same concern myself, so I had a servant stand in the guestroom this afternoon, and we tested what sounds would transmit through the walls."

Georgiana didn't whisper, but her voice was still worried, "Are you certain Fitzwilliam cannot hear anything?"

"Completely." There was definitely a smirk in Wickham's voice. "Please — little George really wants to play."

He was going to kill Wickham.

He was actually going to _kill_ him. What was wrong with his _brother_? To _plan_ this. By the time Darcy decided he should bang on the wall, it was too late to avoid mortal embarrassment.

This was the most uncomfortable Darcy had _ever_ been. He'd thought he had become immune to embarrassment.

He had not.

At last the two stopped moving. Darcy sighed in relief.

Tomorrow morning he would leave the house.

He could not. Georgiana would demand to know why.

The bed in the other room creaked again, and with Georgiana giggled. "Look! Little George is standing up again!"

MDVMDVMDV

Early the next day the residents of Bingley's house called upon those of Wickham's.

The bags under Darcy's eyes that Elizabeth had seen the previous day had not dissipated. He sat in the corner of the drawing room wan and listless but stood and bowed with a smile that transformed his appearance as soon as he caught sight of her. "Miss Elizabeth, you look very well this morning — I am delighted to see you. You as well, Bingley."

Elizabeth asked with a concerned frown, "Mr. Darcy, are you well? You do not look as though you slept well." Elizabeth blushed after asking the question. She had tossed and turned for an hour thinking about him and whether she had been right to refuse his offer of marriage. Had he been unable to sleep because he was thinking about her?

Darcy went pale and looked towards Mr. Wickham who smirked. "I slept very well — I have never slept better. It was a sound sleep from the instant my head touched the pillow."

Georgiana blushed and said, "I'm glad to hear that — you have enjoyed the accommodations then? I'm so pleased to entertain you!"

"Oh yes — this is a fine little house. I'm delighted to stay with you, Georgie."

Mr. Wickham grinned and said, "And I am happy to host you in my house. If anything — noises, creaks, _anything_ bothered you, please tell me."

Georgiana elbowed her husband, and Darcy said evenly, "No, I slept as well as I do in my own chambers at Pemberley."

"I am delighted to hear it." Mr. Wickham now looked to Elizabeth with a charming smile, "Miss Bennet, can I say that you look even handsomer and more ravishing than ever before? The way you reworked that straw bonnet — you are a true artist. A lovely artist."

"No —" Elizabeth gave Wickham a false smile. "'Tis too much praise. I will not let you say it."

"Then since the lovely goddess commands it, I shall not say it."

Georgiana giggled, while Darcy appeared as though he wished to snarl at Wickham.

"Fitzwilliam," Georgiana said, "you must let me show you about the town. We shall walk around and see the sights. You've only been here the once when you first brought me here last summer. I have ever so much more to show you. Lizzy, Mrs. Bingley, you all must come with us too. I do not want us to be parted."

Jane said, "It is a warm day, and I thought we might adopt such a scheme. I told my servants to be ready to set out a picnic in the park when we are done touring the town."

The town was picturesque and had worn cobblestone streets. The buildings were a mix of modern brick and antique timber frames, and many of the houses were remarkably pretty. Georgiana had Darcy's arm and eagerly pointed out her favorite shops and told little stories about where she had bought kid gloves or how Wickham had surprised her with a gift from that shop.

Darcy was distracted. The last had been by far the worst night of his life, but if he left, even with a sufficient excuse so Georgiana did not realize that he had heard them, Wickham would know that he had won. Darcy didn't want that.

When they passed the town's chandler, Darcy's eyes brightened. While the sounds had never bothered him, some travelers used pieces of wax to block up their ears so that they could sleep more easily in busy inns.

"Aha!"

Darcy let go of Georgiana's arm and said, "I have a purchase to make — I'll not be long. Go along, go along — I'll meet you again when I'm done — at the harbor park."

"No, Fitzwilliam. I wish to see. Please tell me. What do you want to buy?"

Darcy's eyes darted back and forth. When they lit on Elizabeth, she smiled back at him and shrugged. She wondered what purchase he could make at a candle-maker's shop that he'd desperately want to hide.

"Nothing. It's nothing important — it shall be boring — I would not wish to be hurried."

"Ohhhh. I understand." Georgiana grabbed Wickham's arm and said, "We shall go to the park — do not be too long."

Darcy frowned as his sister walked away. She would not act so nonchalant if she had guessed what he planned to purchase and why. What did Georgie think he was going to buy?

He pushed the door open, ringing the bell, and the candlemaker came out from the back with a tradesman's deferential smile. "Sir, what might I do for you?"

Darcy explained his order.

"Yes, I can prepare something for you, but to work best it should be molded into your ear while the wax is as hot as it can be without burning you; it will take time. I am very busy today. Come back tomorrow, and I shall have plenty of time."

" _No_." The door rang behind him, but instead of turning around Darcy begged, "I'll pay you any sum. I need them prepared _now_."

"Alright sir, alright. I'll make your ear plugs. It will be four shillings."

Darcy exclaimed in shock, " _Four shillings_."

It had been Elizabeth who had entered the shop, and she warmly giggled at Darcy's horror at the price.

The chandler replied with an annoyed voice, "You claimed you would pay any sum — if you wish it done _now_ , you shall pay that."

Too embarrassed by the situation to bargain in front of Elizabeth, Darcy pulled the coins from his purse.

Elizabeth said in a sweet voice. "Poor Georgiana. That is not at all what she guessed you were to purchase. Why ever do you desperately need ear plugs? Is the sound from the surf bothering you? The Wickhams' house is set a little inland. _I_ find the waves very relaxing."

"No… no, it is nothing of the sort. I mean yes — the surf bothers me."

"Well then what is the real reason you need them? Do not look so mulish — I shall hound you until you tell me."

Darcy replied in a wild whisper, "I heard them. I _heard_ them. _He_ made sure I would."

Elizabeth shook her head in confusion. "Forgive me, but I do not understand you. _What_ did you hear?"

" _Them_!"

"Doing what?" Elizabeth's eyebrows rose to the ceiling as she deduced the answer.

 _Oh_.

Elizabeth blushed crimson and saw that Darcy looked even more embarrassed. Poor Mr. Darcy, to hear his baby sister and Mr. Wickham. No wonder he had looked crazed this morning when she asked how he had slept.

The chandler had heated and softened two pieces of beeswax cut from a candle and gruffly ordered Darcy to sit. Darcy did so, not looking at Elizabeth. The man pressed one of the softened pieces of wax into Darcy's left ear. Elizabeth brightly said, "Sir, you must do a very good job with these ear plugs. They are a matter of great importance."

"I know my business, little Miss. Don't accuse me of possibly doing a poor job." Then still holding the piece in place with his left hand, he pushed the second into Darcy's other ear. While he did his work, the man muttered about gentry who had ridiculous demands and then accused him of doing a poor job. Elizabeth sat and alternated between watching Darcy while the wax molds hardened and admiring the walls of candles.

After a minute the pieces of wax were pulled from Darcy's ears, and with a critical look the chandler carved off little bits to make them neater. He wrapped the pieces in brown paper and handed them to Darcy, who placed them in his coat pocket. "Now you, ma'am, is there anything you wish me to do for you — or are you too concerned I shall make a mess of the job?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "I was only keeping Mr. Darcy company."

"So you only entered my shop to insult me and waste my time? Delightful. Now, I shall return to my _real_ work."

"Wait." Elizabeth turned to Darcy. "Georgiana thinks you are buying her and Wickham a gift and that is why you sent her off."

Darcy groaned and covered his eyes with his hand. He asked the chandler, "What could I purchase from you which would be an appropriate gift for a young wife?"

The man replied with a flat glare that suggested he despised Darcy, "Candles. A _great_ many candles."

Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from laughing. Darcy's eyes brightened, and he pulled a miniature painting from his chest pocket. He showed it to Elizabeth; it was a painting of a large beautiful house with endless rows of windows and a front of marble columns.

Darcy answered Elizabeth's unasked question, "Pemberley."

Elizabeth's face brightened. "You wish to have a wax figure made of it — that shall make a fine gift for Georgiana."

"I know." Darcy said to the chandler, "Could you make a wax model of this building?"

" _No_. I'm a maker and seller of _candles_. Not rich women's decorative toys."

"What if I paid —"

"No, no, no. A thousand times no. I would not even know how to make it. I don't play with wax like an overgrown child. _I make candles_. There is a man down the street who can help you. Now _get out_."

The instant they were back in the street, Elizabeth started to laugh and laugh. "I've never met a more irritable man. I did not know candle making was such a serious business."

Darcy laughed with Elizabeth. "And I thought he appeared deferential when I first entered the store."

Elizabeth laughed again. "Not he. Your perception of character failed you this time. Are you satisfied? Will these block the sound of your sister and her darling husband —"

" _Don't_ say anything more." An impish smile hovered around Elizabeth's lips. Darcy shrugged, "These must work, for I shall throw myself in the ocean if I am made to endure another such night."

"That is a good plan — the water certainly would stop the sound. How, however, do you intend to breathe and sleep?"

"At the least I will take a room at an inn or beg Bingley to put me up. But if I do that, I would need to explain to Georgie, _why_."

The two went to what they correctly guessed was the shop of the person who could make a wax miniature on commission. The artist was far friendlier, making a sketch from Darcy's miniature and promising that he would have the model prepared within a week's time.

Elizabeth admired the painting. So that was the house which Darcy had grown up in and which commanded his estate. "It is beautiful."

"Yes. It Is. But it is only a house. This is how it looked during my father's time."

"It must still be beautiful — to be the master of such an estate. That must be something indeed. A great responsibility. You have so many tenants and servants under your protection."

Darcy wanted to say that it would be a much happier burden with her. But he had promised not to ceaselessly make love to her. "Promise me you shall visit someday soon. I want you to see her. You shall fall in love and never wish to leave."

Elizabeth turned her luminous eyes on him. "I look forward to seeing your Pemberley."

Once they were done, Darcy and Elizabeth walked arm in arm to the harbor park. The Bingleys' servants had spread out a blanket and picnic. Georgiana and Wickham were happily chatting with Jane and Bingley when the two strolled up.

Bingley called out, "It has been a great while — Lizzy, Ramsgate isn't such a large town — however did you two get lost?"

Darcy replied, "The candle maker was unwilling to make what I hoped, but he told me who I could speak to."

"Ha! Likely excuse."

It was a pleasant meal, and Elizabeth was happy and smiling as she talked to Darcy and Georgiana. She even lost a little of her antipathy to Wickham and allowed herself to laugh at his jokes. Each time she did she looked at Darcy and raised her eyebrows, daring him to be jealous of his brother-in-law. Darcy would grin back, and her cheeks would redden.

Darcy watched her. He never would have imagined that he could be grateful for last night, but laughing together dissolved part of the tension between them. She was as beautiful and bright as ever. Patience, he needed to show much patience. But it was hard to sink back into the moment and just enjoy Elizabeth's presence again.

He needed to at least explain that he could afford to marry her.

Darcy fell silent and ignored the conversation. He had always used the money as a shield to guard himself from his feelings. He told himself that money meant he could not marry her and that he needed to deprive himself.

It had been an excuse to not ask what really mattered to him.

Elizabeth touched Darcy lightly on the shoulder and smiled at him. He shook himself and attended to the conversation. After the meal they walked along the sand past the gathered piles of driftwood.

Each couple separated from the others, and they were strung out along the beach, like an open necklace with only three pearls. Elizabeth and Darcy were furthest back, walking slowly and taking more time to appreciate the view as they hoped to talk without being a spectacle.

Elizabeth leaned heavily on Darcy's arm to keep herself steady on top of the shifting sand. They both knew she did not truly need his support, but he enjoyed holding her up, and Elizabeth enjoyed leaning on Darcy's strong arms.

They spoke on inconsequential topics until Darcy abruptly said, "We could afford to marry. I do not need to marry an heiress for the money. My finances are much better than is generally believed."

"You told me yourself you have a debt of ninety thousand pounds. You do not even keep a carriage. I know you came to Jane's wedding by post. I asked you not to make love to me, and this is why. You — I do not know what you mean to accomplish, but I'll not let you pretend."

"The pretense —" Darcy tightened his lips and said in a clipped voice, "It is meaningless to state how large a debt is without providing a context for that number, an accounting of assets. Over the past twelve months my estates provided an income of almost fourteen thousand. My debts require only a third of my income to service. I am a wealthy man, I live the way I do only because I wish to eliminate those debts quickly, not because it is impossible for me to spend more."

Elizabeth stared at him. She frowned, and the fine skin of her forehead wrinkled in thought. They continued to walk along the seashore. The surf whooshed in and out, with a low roar each time a wave crashed.

Darcy had barely any money. He was well connected and the master of a beautiful estate but impoverished. That was how she had _always_ understood him. His behavior was governed by a desperate need to avoid bankruptcy.

"You lied to me." Her voice was low and angry. "Meaningless without context! You lied. You let me assume what the context was. _That is a lie_. You kissed me. You kissed me and then said you could not marry me because you were in debt. Because you needed the money. Because… because —"

Elizabeth couldn't speak and ground her teeth together.

"Elizabeth —"

"Don't!" A seagull poking at the sand to hunt for crabs startled and flapped weakly before it settled again. " _Don't_ defend yourself. It will only anger me further."

Nothing was said.

Her feet sank into the sand with each step. At last Elizabeth looked sideways to briefly take in Darcy's profile. His eyes were on the ground picking out each step. He caught her gaze and looked towards her. "I am not a perfect man."

Darcy's voice was flat. Elizabeth felt a surge of sympathy for him — she could hardly understand.

What was his true situation?

The interest rates by law could not be more than five percent. That would mean his debt would cost between four and five thousand in interest charges each year. That left at least eight thousand a year.

Good God! That was near twice Bingley's income. If Mama ever had any idea….

"I don't… I don't understand. That is an enormous amount. _Why_ lie to me? Why does money concern you at all? With so much income, even Miss Bingley's dowry could not have been a great addition."

Darcy frowned as he contemplated Elizabeth's question.

He _had_ lied to her. Damn, damn, damn.

What he told Elizabeth was not completely untrue. He'd be forced to sell land if his uncle refused to accept the marriage and cut off support. That had been his real fear all along.

 _He didn't care any longer_.

He could lose all the damned land, and the house too if Elizabeth would be with him. There was something giddy about the absence of that old weight.

"Nevermind! Do not tell me. I do not want to hear what new lie you are contemplating." Elizabeth released Darcy's arm and ran forward. She stumbled through the sand and quickly reached Georgiana and Wickham.

Darcy stopped walking and stared at her figure with a sodden expression.

Elizabeth called out when she came within a few paces, "Georgie, I have a question."

Elizabeth took Wickham's other arm, but she could think of no question that would excuse her joining them. The frothy waves ebbed and flowed; the calling of the gulls was melancholy. Mr. Wickham chuckled. "Ha! How did my dear brother offend you?"

When they returned to Bingley and Jane's house that afternoon, Elizabeth went to her dressing room to change. She had stayed near Mr. Wickham, because Darcy probably would not try to speak to her in his presence.

He hadn't.

Darcy's guilty, dejected frown sapped at Elizabeth's anger. Each time she considered speaking to him again, the frustration returned. Ha! How could he look that miserable when his net income was _eight thousand_ a year. Eccentric miser. Disgusting miser. He was the greedy creature Wickham claimed him to be.

Why he would not even buy a new coat, and this one had already been quite old when he wore it in Hertfordshire. He did not love her; he loved money.

He should stop looking miserable.

How could he be rich? It somehow changed her every impression of him. It was choice not necessity that made him act that way.

They had decided that Darcy, Georgiana, and Wickham would dine with the Bingleys. Elizabeth changed into a pretty evening dress that left her collarbones bare. She went to the window of her room. The windowsill had been painted a smooth green, and Elizabeth ran her fingers over it.

Darcy sat in the garden. He was seated at her table, in her lounge chair, and he stared, like she had so many times, over the flower beds and at the pounding surf. He had taken off his beaver hat and set it on the table next to him. The wind ruffled his dark hair. His long legs stretched out in front of him, with the feet hanging out over the end of the chair.

Emotion crawled up Elizabeth's throat. Affection and tenderness. He was handsome and dear to her heart. That was the same blue tail coat he always used for ordinary circumstances. She knew its image well. The elbows and seat were shiny from too much use. Most of his cravats were cotton, and the white silk one had a slight stain which could not quite be removed.

He worked so hard to clear his debts. It meant something different when a gentleman cut his expenses to the bone when it was not necessary. It was so like him: he had sworn to himself that he would clear those hated debts left by his father as speedily as possible, and he then focused every sinew of his being on doing so. No wonder he was rich _now_. He had struggled for it, and he would continue to struggle until his oath was complete.

And yet, his basic humanity remained. He had spent hundreds of pounds to help the apprentice children on his estate. Elizabeth was sure he always made sure old servants were pensioned off adequately and that any tenant who needed a doctor was attended. That was who he was.

He would be a fine father. His daughters would never lack a dowry because he could not be bothered to economize.

She loved him, and she trusted him. She had wanted to test and torment Darcy by dangling herself before him and leaving him in anxiety. He had earned her anger, and he knew it. But that would be wrong, and it hurt her as much as Darcy. If he had so much money, there was no material reason that would keep them apart.

Sudden happiness weakened Elizabeth's knees. Amazingly, this whole twisted romance betwixt them would end happily. She would go downstairs, smile wider than she ever had smiled before, and tell him: _Yes_ , _I love you, my Fitzwilliam_.

Nervous anxiety came to Elizabeth, and when she reached her door instead of opening it she turned around and paced. Was this change too sudden — should she trust herself? Was she forgetting something? She would not be selfish and hurt Darcy for anything.

But he claimed to know his mind, and if he had the money, what harm would she do him? Miss Bingley's voice from the night of the ball at Netherfield, the night when Darcy fled from her the first time, came to Elizabeth's ears: _He depends on his uncle. He could not marry against his wishes_.

Darcy could ignore his uncle. He was rich enough to please himself.

What could his uncle do to him?

Darcy was still deeply in debt. He had been forced to borrow twenty thousand pounds from Bingley because his uncle refused to help him.

What if almost all of Darcy's loans were called in at the same time?

He would be forced to sell part of Pemberley.

Darcy had never lied to her. He needed to marry a woman his uncle approved of. That was what he meant when he said he no longer cared. He had decided she meant more to him than keeping his estate intact.

Darcy's behavior today and yesterday showed none of the wavering that had been present before. He had chosen her. At last he chose her.

She could not let him. He loved his land; it would tear him apart to lose any of it. She could not take it from him.

Elizabeth pressed her back against the wall and slid down to the hardwood floor. They could not marry. She had hoped — but it was impossible. His land was what mattered most to him. She was _not_ selfish, not like that.

 _No,_ no, no.

Elizabeth blubbered. Wrenching sobs made it impossible to breathe.

Jane entered the room and knelt down pulling Elizabeth into her arms. "Oh, Lizzy, Lizzy."

Elizabeth clutched at her sister for comfort. She would hurt him when he realized she would not marry him. Oh, oh — could she even do it?

Darcy had been strong before. He had resisted every temptation. She would do no less. He was her model.

Jane said, "I feared this would happen. We shall not dine with him. I suppose he must stay in Ramsgate to be near his sister… Tomorrow I'll write to Charlotte to see if she —"

"No! No, no, no." Elizabeth spoke through her tears, "You can't send me off. You can't. We are at least to be friends."

"Lizzy, you are crying. With your feelings for him, if he shall not do the right thing and make an offer, we must keep you —"

"He did — yesterday he did. I refused him. It was me."

"What?" Jane blinked. "But you —"

"I was angry and scared he might change his mind again. But I can't marry him, he… he would regret it forever if we married."

"It would be impossible for any man to regret marrying you. He loves you, and you still love him."

"No, he would. And I would hate myself for doing it to him. I won't be selfish again. Please, help me wipe my tears off, I must see him. Quickly. We quarreled, and I don't want him to think I'm still angry."

Jane sighed but helped Elizabeth wash the tears off, and then she patted rouge into her sister's face.

Elizabeth went downstairs. Her eyes were still red, but her face was clean. She immediately went outside and sat next to Darcy and greeted him with a friendly smile.


	24. Chapter 24

Two weeks after Darcy arrived at Ramsgate, he rode with Wickham to London, so they could sign the settlement papers. Georgiana remained in Ramsgate due to her pregnancy.

When they returned, Mr. Darcy was accompanied by his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam. Elizabeth liked him very much, though from his manner she realized he knew about her past with Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth and Darcy spent hours together most days. They sat in the garden when the weather permitted and enjoyed the stiff sea breezes and the sounds of the waves. Sometimes they were joined by others, but often it was just the two of them talking and laughing.

Darcy knew the time of this happy interlude was passing.

Elizabeth was warm and almost desperately sweet with him. But anytime he tried to hint about their future, a fear would rise in her eyes and she would wordlessly beg him not to ask, not yet. So he did not. Not yet. But he would not leave her.

He would never leave Elizabeth's side again.

Eventually he would need to press her. His unshakable decision to marry Elizabeth made him more like his father. He had placed what he wanted, who he needed, above the needs of the estate. Perhaps Elizabeth had realized he was not good enough for her any longer. Was that why she would not let him ask her?

Darcy knew that was absurd.

Whatever made Elizabeth hesitate, she did not fear he would become imprudent in the future. That was his own anxiety. But as much as he wanted to settle matters with Elizabeth, she needed more time, and he did not wish to damage their present happiness with unwanted begging.

After she left Ramsgate, Elizabeth would visit Charlotte. Darcy was not eager to rebuild his relationship with Lady Catherine, but a visit to her would be a fine excuse to stay near Elizabeth for two more months.

Darcy sent a letter to Lady Catherine stating his hope to reconcile with her. A fortnight afterwards the following reply was received:

 _My Dear Nephew,_

 _I know what your goal is. You yet hope to attach Anne. You must be even more desperate for funds than before. You should not have given my sister's dowry to the steward's son. I understand you have now reconciled with him and your hussy of a sister. You should not have met her at all, or even permitted her name to be mentioned in your presence. You are an entirely unacceptable husband for my daughter, who is the heir of two great family names._

 _I understand your plot and shall not allow it to succeed._

 _However, your desire for reconciliation was well worded._

 _Your loving aunt,_

 _Lady Catherine de Bourgh_

Darcy ranted to himself about the self-important foolishness of his aunt. Why would he wish to marry Anne when he loved Elizabeth?

He needed to convince his aunt that she was wrong so he could visit while Elizabeth was present.

For Elizabeth, and only for her, he could appease his aunt. Darcy wrote a new letter:

 _My dear, noble, and distinguished aunt,_

 _All I wish is to restore closeness with my mother's beloved sister. Recent events made me think more strongly of the importance of family connections. I have ignored ties of blood for far too long. I know that my debts and the behavior of my sister mean I must come to you as a supplicant, and not an equal._

 _Had I not foolishly taken offense when you rightfully refused Anne's hand, none of the calamities that have struck me since would have occurred. For if I had shown you the deference our relationship and your superior position deserve, I would have heard and benefited from your wisdom and advice. Had I listened to your wisdom on how to raise a girl, it would have been impossible for me to make the mistakes which led to Georgiana's regrettable marriage._

 _Alas, I now wish to lock the door after the fox, that vile, vicious steward's son, has already eaten my sister. But I know your wisdom and frankness to be such that I shall still benefit from your advice. I am truly sincere when I say there is no desire in my heart to steal my cousin, even though she is England's finest jewel. I know marriage to your elegant daughter would be an impossibility, and I will not enter into strife with the oceans or seek to conquer the moon._

 _Your penitent nephew,_

 _Fitzwilliam Darcy_

Darcy did not feel guilty about slathering false praise on his aunt. His letter was sarcastic, not dishonest. After the rudeness of Lady Catherine's first letter, it was her affair if she failed to understand that. If Lady Catherine refused to let him visit, he would take a room at an inn so he could be near Elizabeth. It would be more pleasant.

Darcy was not sure if he was pleased or not when Lady Catherine replied to his letter with an offer for him to visit when he wished. Colonel Fitzwilliam decided he would enjoy his occasionally necessary visit to Lady Catherine best when Darcy was there. So a week later they both crowded into Bingley's carriage for the several hour journey from Ramsgate to Rosings Park.

Elizabeth was dropped off first, and Darcy kissed her hand before allowing the carriage to separate them, even if it was just by half a mile.

Once Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived and washed their hands and faces, they were summoned to the drawing room.

Lady Catherine wore panniers, a style that had not been popular since the middle of the previous century. Her hoops bellowed out around the edges of the giant chair she sat upon. The chair's brown leather back rose a foot above her head. Anne and her old governess Mrs. Jenkinson sat to Lady Catherine's right side. Of course their chairs were smaller, so they did not compete with the great lady's throne.

Lady Catherine carefully looked Darcy over with a dismissive sneer. "Well. Hmph. You certainly dress like you are poor."

Darcy shrugged and looked down to hide his smile. "I feel the damage to my consequence keenly. Still, I am untitled, and the distinctions of rank should be preserved." He recalled Lady Catherine spitting out nonsense about how sumptuary laws were an excellent scheme and should be greatly expanded.

"You have Fitzwilliam blood, debased though it may be by the mixture with that of your foul father. Nephew, you may kiss my cheek."

Darcy did so.

Elizabeth would think the scene was ludicrous. It was hard not to laugh when he imagined how he would describe it for her.

Lady Catherine pointed at Anne. "Despite your excellent letter, I know somewhere in your grasping mind is a desire for my daughter" — Lady Catherine pounded her black leather cane on the floor three times — "I shall not allow it."

Anne blinked at Darcy, her face was thin and expressionless, and her hair thin and dull. She seemed smaller and paler than he remembered. How could anyone desire her if they knew a lively and bold woman such as Elizabeth?

"Of course, madam. Your will shall govern me."

"Hmph. Well, you begged for my advice, and I shall give you a great deal. But my time is not unlimited; I have many tasks as the leading gentlewoman of the parish, so I shall expect you to listen close when I speak to you, for I will not repeat myself."

Oh, damn.

Of course she took _that_ part seriously. He now would _have_ to listen to her. The things he did for Elizabeth. "I do not wish to take more of your time than you can give without causing harm to others."

"Fie. I'll be the judge of that — Where are you going, Richard?"

Darcy's cousin was caught surreptitiously inching towards the door. He looked like he used to as a boy when the cook caught him stealing sweets right before dinner. "I was going to make sure my horse is stabled properly."

Lady Catherine grunted. "My groom did a fine job of settling in your horse. You do not need to."

"I am a military man, madam. We wish to manage these matters ourselves. I may someday depend upon that horse to save my life."

"Nonsense, boy. You are safe here in England — not fighting Boney's bravos in that boorish country with that jumped up Irish upstart Wellesley. Sit down and listen. You may learn something, which is more, I daresay, than you've ever done before."

Darcy looked at Colonel Fitzwilliam and said with a smirk, "Yes, do stay — I would hate if you lost the benefit of your aunt's wisdom while I received it."

Colonel Fitzwilliam shrugged and sat on a couch.

Lady Catherine said to Darcy, "I must know what your household practices are in detail before I can describe all the mistakes you are making. Pray tell — how often does your housekeeper wash the linens?"

MDVMDVMDV

The next afternoon Elizabeth dined with Lady Catherine. This was Sir William's last dinner before he would return to Hertfordshire. Elizabeth and Charlotte held arms as they walked across the lawn, enjoying each other's company again. Mr. Collins walked backwards through the lawn as he explained to Elizabeth the extravagant features of Rosings Park.

The long row of windows had cost six hundred pounds to glaze. Very expensive, though it was a great many windows. Elizabeth's conversations with Darcy over the past few weeks had made her more aware of money matters.

When the party arrived, they were ushered into a sitting room. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam immediately stood upon their entrance, while Lady Catherine remained in a large grand chair. Her hair was done up in a massive piled style that towered six inches. Elizabeth wondered how much of the hair was actually from a horse. The young woman seated next to Lady Catherine, who Elizabeth assumed was her daughter, had a blank stare.

Elizabeth and Darcy exchanged glances of amusement during Mr. Collins's long winded introduction of his fair cousin to Lady Catherine. When the time came, Elizabeth made a properly deferential curtsy to the grand lady. Lady Catherine wished to seem like a throned monarch receiving obeisance from her subjects. If it amused her Ladyship to engage in such a pretense, it amused Elizabeth to pretend as well.

As soon as Lady Catherine's attention left her, Elizabeth looked around the room. It was an impressive and grand, several times the size of Netherfield's drawing room, and the fireplace was nearly ten feet wide. Elizabeth imagined that Darcy had calculated out the fortune it must cost to heat this room in the winter.

Darcy looked well in his blue tailcoat.

Except for several simple wooden chairs in the back, where uniformed maids and footmen sat waiting for Lady Catherine to raise an imperious finger to command them — no reliance on such newfangled notions as bells for her — all of the chairs were made of ornate hardwoods, with the arms carved into the claws of mythological beasts. Elizabeth had heard from Mr. Collins that the chimney piece in Lady Catherine's drawing room cost eight hundred pounds.

It was a very large and elaborately decorated chimney piece.

When the party proceeded to dinner, Darcy arranged to take Elizabeth's arm. He had watched Elizabeth look about and saw that she was as amused by his aunt's manners as he had expected. With a dry sideways glance, he asked Elizabeth, "Are you not impressed by my aunt's house?"

Elizabeth whispered back, "I have _never_ been so impressed — I have it on the authority of Mr. Collins that the chimney piece cost eight hundred pounds. Money well spent. Tell me did you figure what it would cost to keep a roaring fire in a fireplace that large in the winter?"

"No — though I can say it is a large sum. I would guess it to be at least…" Darcy trailed off as he figured in his head.

Elizabeth interrupted him with a laugh. "I do not need to know — do you remember when you complained about my mother's beeswax candles?"

"No — wait, I do — that was boorish of me."

"You apologized immediately." Elizabeth flashed an impish grin. "That time."

After they were seated, Lady Catherine interrogated Elizabeth as she was the only member of the party a stranger to her ladyship.

"Are all your sisters out?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"The youngest out, when there are three older who are yet unmarried? That is poorly done. You shall tell your father I said as much."

"I assure you I shall when next I see him. He will be eager to hear the story of how a woman such as yourself advised him in such a matter."

"Hmph. He does not strike me as a clever fellow. Is it true your father has set nothing aside for your dowry? I cannot believe it, but Mr. Collins insists that is true, and he ought to know."

"I will not contradict a clergyman."

"Well… it is your own affair if you are to be spendthrift. But I would strenuously advise you to save something. It shocks me that Darcy's friend, Mr. Bingley, married your sister under such circumstances. It does not speak highly of his sense. Had he come to me for advice, I would've strenuously advised him against it. It does not surprise me that Darcy would have such an imprudent fellow for his closest friend."

Lady Catherine now turned her owl like gaze on Mr. Darcy. "This is another advice for you: don't follow your friend. Promise you shall not let your base emotions control your reason like he did. As a Darcy you must be susceptible to the low arts and allurements a grasping woman might use, but your Fitzwilliam blood should let you rise above it."

"I promise you I will only let _noble_ emotions control me."

Elizabeth caught Darcy's meaningful gaze, and she flushed.

Lady Catherine continued her inquisition. No matter was beneath her concern. She wished to know Elizabeth's age — had she had a governess? Had she exposed her lungs to the sea air for more than an hour at a time at Ramsgate? Was it true she engaged in the deplorable practice of reading novels?

Despite the intrusiveness of her questions, Lady Catherine's bluntness made Elizabeth feel more goodwill towards her than she had expected to. There was something likable in the woman's sublime self-assurance.

Eventually Lady Catherine's interest shifted to other persons. Darcy was proud of Elizabeth. She had sweetly kept her temper during Lady Catherine's interrogation.

When Lady Catherine's attention left Elizabeth, Darcy nudged her and pointed at a huge portrait of a bareheaded soldier on horseback that hung above the dinner table. The man had long flowing hair and wore the clothes of the seventeenth century. Having Elizabeth's attention, Darcy whispered to her, "Lady Catherine will tell you that is Sir Lewis's ancestor, who fought for Charles against parliament."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows, and the edges of her lips curled up. "An impressive portrait and pedigree."

"The portrait is impressive, but the pedigree… Were it true, it would be so." Darcy kept his smile small to avoid questions from Lady Catherine. "The old steward who lived here when I was a boy swore it had belonged to the family Sir Lewis's father bought this estate from — the de Bourgh family fortune was made plundering Bengal with Clive. To make himself look greater, Lady Catherine's father-in-law always told visitors how the portrait belonged to one of his ancestors."

"Oh." Elizabeth glanced between the portrait and Lady Catherine. "If the story is true, do you think your aunt knows?"

Darcy snickered and then coughed to hide the sound. With a red face he replied to Elizabeth, "I had never thought on the matter. The first baronet would have told my grandparents that story when his son was courting Lady Catherine. And I heard that Lady Catherine's character was much like it is now, only younger."

"So she believes the portrait belonged to Sir Lewis's ancestor." Elizabeth whispered, "Has she told the story to many people?"

"Heavens! She has — _we must warn her_."

The sound of Elizabeth's giggles caught Lady Catherine's attention. "Miss Bennet, what amuses you?"

"Nothing, ma'am."

"Do you often laugh?"

Elizabeth pursed her lips, confused by this line of questioning. "I do, ma'am. I dearly love a good laugh."

"Hmph." Lady Catherine sniffed at her grandly. "You should cease. Laughter is an abominable habit. I never laugh myself. You are close enough to a gentlewoman that you should cast off such vulgar behaviors."

"It would not be very amusing to break my habit of laughing."

Lady Catherine frowned. "You are a forward and impertinent girl. You are a little charming, but you should seek to rein in your pride and self-certainty."

Elizabeth was too engaged suppressing a smile to think of a good reply. Lady Catherine was the absolute last woman in the world with the right to accuse another of having too much pride and self-certainty. She must write a letter to Papa just to describe meeting Lady Catherine.

Lady Catherine added, "A little confidence is no bad feature in a woman, but you must mix it with a proper respect for those of greater rank than yourself. You are young yet, and I have hope you will come to judge better in time — no well-bred girl would laugh so much as you do. An occasional smile is sufficient to show amusement. When I was a girl, every gentleman was taught to keep his mouth shut and only smiled politely to show amusement. It was Cits and peasants who laughed."

Lady Catherine turned to Darcy. "I knew how useless your father was the first time I heard him laugh. I should have warned Anne off. Ever since I understood what a mistake I made…"

There was an awkward silence, and Lady Catherine seemed to expect Darcy to insult his father as well. Darcy's face was closed, and Elizabeth's amusement died. To attack Darcy in that way, in front of those outside of the family. Horrid, overbearing woman.

Elizabeth nudged Darcy's leg with her foot, and he looked up at her. She smiled at him, and he briefly smiled back.


	25. Chapter 25

Two days later Anne de Bourgh stopped her phaeton on her ride round the park at the front gate of Hunsford parsonage, and Charlotte went out to speak to her. It was a windy day and Elizabeth frowned at the rudeness shown by making her friend stand out in the cold. Elizabeth was curious about the girl and went to talk with her. Lady Catherine tyrannized her as much as everyone else, and this made Elizabeth sympathetic towards the young woman.

Mrs. Jenkinson sat with Miss de Bourgh. After they exchanged greetings Elizabeth said, "Your cousins are very good friends of mine; I would dearly wish to make you a friend as well."

"Oh." The woman drew back a little into the soft cushions. Her eyes were wide, and they dominated her thin face. Her silk bonnet was broad and deep. Miss de Bourgh looked like a frightened child caught wearing her mother's clothes for play. She said, "You wish to be my friend? Mama may not approve; you are very beneath us. She said you are barely a gentlewoman because your uncle is a Cit. I must ask Mama what to do, but I thank you for the offer. I think I would like a friend."

Anne had her carriage set off without saying anything further. Elizabeth looked at Charlotte and opened her mouth and then shut it. Charlotte shrugged. Elizabeth said, "Miss de Bourgh seems… odd. How old is she? She must be several years above my age, yet she does not seem to be… mature."

"She rarely says so much as she did now." Charlotte and Elizabeth quickly walked back to the door to get out of the stiff breeze. "She is twenty and five."

The next day Miss de Bourgh drove around to the parsonage quite early and had her footman make a racket until Elizabeth and Charlotte left off their indoor employments and walked out to the garden gate to speak to her.

This time Miss de Bourgh was unaccompanied by Mrs. Jenkinson. "Mama has declared that I might use you for a companion, even though you are of low birth." She pointed an imperious, brown gloved finger at the seat cushion next to her. "Sit, Miss Bennet."

With an internal shrug of amusement, Elizabeth followed the command. It seemed she had learned from her mother's example, but Elizabeth thought more ignorance and silliness was behind Miss de Bourgh's behavior than impertinence and cruelty.

As soon as Elizabeth was settled on the lavender cushion, Anne ordered the phaeton into motion.

The roads directly around Rosings Park were well-maintained, and the carriages springs were excellent. They moved slowly enough that the bumps in the road could barely be felt. Elizabeth looked sideways at the woman next to her. She wore a fine green silk dress, with a profusion of tatted lace around the cuffs and collar.

Miss de Bourgh gripped the railing of her carriage and examined Elizabeth as well. However, she quickly glanced away again and tapped a hand on her leg. Elizabeth examined the view their current vantage offered of Rosings Park. The house showed itself very well, framed by a grove of beech trees. It was clear she would need to begin any conversation.

With a bright smile Elizabeth said, "It is a fine day for a ride, is it not? Do you often go around the park like this?"

"Not often." Miss de Bourgh clenched the railing more tightly and did not look at Elizabeth.

Had Elizabeth not been familiar with the manner of Miss de Bourgh's cousins, especially Georgiana, when confronted with new persons, she would have become offended. Instead Elizabeth smiled again and attempted to put Miss de Bourgh at her ease. "That is a pity. For it is very pretty, and your park is well-designed, with many impressive prospects. I've already walked the whole circuit twice and expect to gain much pleasure from seeing the spring advance during my stay with Mrs. Collins. Tell me, what is your favorite view?"

"I am uncertain."

This time she almost looked at Elizabeth. Elizabeth smiled and said, "There must have been some spot which jumped into your mind, perhaps not your favorite, but one you fancy."

"Well…" Miss de Bourgh pursed her thin, pale lips. "There is a small round temple near the chapel, it's on the other side of that hill overlooking the stream; as a girl I would sit there during the rain and watch the water flow past. This was before my father died."

"Why, we are quite similar: I too love to watch the rain. Have you any other similar hobbies?"

"I fear I am uninteresting. My health prevented me from traveling much or acquiring the accomplishments of most young ladies. You, I think, are far more interesting than I am."

Elizabeth wondered at this response. Though she was thin and pale, Elizabeth did not think Miss de Bourgh appeared ill. Would it be impolite to ask? Perhaps. "If you find the question impertinent, you need not respond, but when did you first become ill? What is your ailment?"

"When I was ten. At the time of my father's death. I went into hysterics and refused to stop crying no matter how Mama ordered me to. It was most unbecoming for a girl of my station. We do not cry and weep endlessly like peasants. Mama ordered doctors from London to look at me. They diagnosed my condition as too much cholera in the blood, and I was bled until I stopped shouting out so. I was kept in bed for several months once I recovered from the hysterics. Since then I have always been unable to exert myself. When I attempted to have a season in London, I had a fainting spell and then wept in an anteroom for an hour. It was most embarrassing."

Elizabeth's eyes popped slightly at the story. "Does your mother still have you bled often?"

"Not often."

While bleeding was a valuable medical treatment, Elizabeth was certain Miss de Bourgh had not been ill. Of course a ten-year-old would not cease crying quickly _after her father died._ Miss de Bourgh may be odd and arrogant but with such a mother — despite her failings Mrs. Bennet was a better mother than _that_.

The conversation remained quiet, and Elizabeth knew she needed to try again if she hoped for a real conversation. "Pray tell, what do you read? Have you a favorite novel?"

"I do not read novels. Mama insists that is beneath the dignity of our rank."

"Does she?" Elizabeth's nostrils flared. That was very like Lady Catherine: Any innocent pleasure must be banished. The only allowable pleasures with those derived from cruelty and display of superior rank. "What do _you_ think about novels? Do you agree with your mother in every particular?"

Miss de Bourgh smiled a little. "I perceive you do not. The manner in which you responded to my mother's questions at dinner was most impertinent. It amused me. Still, you should show greater deference to your betters." The girl's blue eyes were serious as she added, "You would not wish to offend Lady Catherine. She has very great consequence. No one sensible would offend her. You have only amused her so far but be cautious."

Elizabeth could not help a laugh. "And what, pray tell, shall I suffer when I gain your mother's disapprobation?"

Miss de Bourgh shivered. "Do not joke. She can be most determined."

Elizabeth could see that her mother legitimately frightened Miss de Bourgh and hid her smile. She must be very sheltered to imagine that the power of Lady Catherine extended far beyond the vicinity of Rosings Park. "I can tell that you have not traveled much. How many times have you been to town?"

"Only the once, after I fainted at a ball we returned straightaway. I would dearly wish to travel more, were my health to permit it, but I have not been outside Kent above a half-dozen times."

"Why do you not choose to travel? You have a companion in Mrs. Jenkinson, and money could not be an object. If you traveled in small stages, your health might easily allow you to visit new locations."

"That is a nice idea. But my mother would never permit me."

Elizabeth smiled again. Miss de Bourgh's world began and ended with what her mother wished.

Miss de Bourgh stammered and, at last, ventured a question of her own, "Pray tell, Miss Bennet, have you often been in London? Do tell me about what places you have traveled."

Elizabeth laughed. "I am not _very_ well-traveled. Though I have often been in London. My aunt and uncle are in trade there and are excellent people. I have stayed with them for a week or more many times. And I just visited Ramsgate, though that is quite near to you — have you visited?"

"That is where cousin Georgiana was caught by that fortune hunter, is it not? I've not been to the seaside, for my mother worries that the salt air might be unhealthful for me."

Miss de Bourgh's look was serious, and Elizabeth smiled. "The sea air unhealthful? I had believed it was in general considered beneficial."

"Mr. van Klapp, the physician my mother has principally put my case under, is convinced it might exacerbate my condition. It would not be good for the balance of humors."

"Ah."

"Do tell me about town. I so envy that your good health and low circumstances allow you to do so many things. Mama would never let me walk about as I know you do. And I wish I could read novels; I cannot understand why it is important not to. The Prince Regent himself reads novels."

Elizabeth smiled, "Aha! You do _not_ agree with your mother in every particular."

After a week's time, Anne considered Elizabeth a dear friend.

Because Anne's health had not allowed her to attend school or fully participate in the parties and dances of young persons, she was intimate with no woman her age. As the closest family of a baronet's rank was a full ten miles away, Lady Catherine had not considered any ladies in the near neighborhood as being of a high enough rank to be close companions for Anne.

Anne was only permitted to befriend Elizabeth since she was too far beneath Anne to have any pretensions of equality.

Elizabeth felt too sad for Anne to be offended by this explanation.

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Darcy and Elizabeth met to walk most mornings. About a week and a half after their arrival Darcy hurriedly walked to the sheltered grove where they met. He had been delayed a quarter of an hour by Lady Catherine quizzing him yet again about why he was willing to speak to Wickham and Georgiana.

His aunt could not decide whether the benefit of having the fortune, which she viewed as her sister's, settled so it definitely would remain connected to the Fitzwilliam blood was worth the horrid disgrace of admitting any connection with that uppity steward's son and his disgraceful wife.

Elizabeth had laced her fingers together behind her bonnet and leaned against the trunk of a large tree. She stared contemplatively up at the canopy. Her posture let the thin fabric of her summer dress and petticoats drape against the curve of her legs and hips. She had not noticed his presence, so Darcy enjoyed his brief ability to freely look at her.

He wanted to touch her and lightly brush his fingers over her body.

Elizabeth straightened up and smiled when she noticed his presence. There was a beautiful teasing twist on her lips as she jumped away from the tree. Then she laughed and exclaimed, "Drat."

Her dress had caught on the tree, and Elizabeth squatted to untangle it. Darcy knelt next to her while she looked critically at the fabric.

"Some sap has smeared onto my dress." She straightened and smoothed down the skirt. "Do I shock you with my extravagance — that I would risk the ruin of a dress simply to relax on a pleasant day?"

"That _you_ would do such does not shock me." Darcy took Elizabeth's hand and kissed the top of her glove. "Besides, you are not the only person whose clothing has been attacked by foliage in such a manner." Darcy grinned at Elizabeth. "I climbed many trees as a boy — some alcohol and a careful wash will remove that stain."

Elizabeth laughed. "You know that? I had believed gentlemen fled any awareness of how the laundry is done. I had not even known that — I only know that my mother was most displeased when I climbed a tree one fine Sunday morning in my best dress."

Elizabeth's eyes danced with amusement. Darcy replied, "You are fortunate that I make it my business to know everything. Otherwise, you would waste this entire walk worrying about your dress."

"I would not. You forget — I'm shockingly extravagant."

Darcy grinned at her, and she laughed.

The two walked around Lady Catherine's park. Darcy paused when they came to a footbridge to collect a silly bouquet of wildflowers from the edge of the stream for Elizabeth.

He smiled as he handed them to her, and with a grin she stuck a lily in her hair.

Elizabeth said, "Your cousin Anne, I have attempted to become her friend… Has she never rebelled against Lady Catherine in any way?"

"Not that I have ever seen. She has always seemed strange to me. We've not been close since we were children. We all would play together before Sir Lewis and my mother died. Since then… not often." Darcy shook his head. "You have spoken with her far more than I have since she has been an adult. You will gain more information from studying your own observations than from my memories."

"You call Anne strange?" Elizabeth smiled archly. "That almost smacks of an insult, and I shall not allow it to stand. For we have decided to become close friends, even though I have relatives in trade, and Mama would not approve at all if she knew."

"So she _can_ rebel against her mother." Elizabeth laughed, and Darcy added, "I am pleased to hear it, I had not expected her to show that much independence."

Elizabeth gave a frustrated huff. "Of course _you_ would not. That poor girl has been tyrannized endlessly by her awful mother. And you — and Colonel Fitzwilliam — have done nothing to counteract it. She is lonely, terribly lonely. Why did you never visit?"

"Well. Lady Catherine lives here."

Elizabeth laughed at his grimace.

Darcy said, "I think no one has ever abused Lady Catherine's hospitality by staying overlong."

"Anne is a sweet girl — you should have made the effort. Your friendship would've done her good. It still would do her good."

Darcy flushed and looked away from Elizabeth. He rubbed his cheek. He did not want to explain his attempt to marry Anne after his father died.

"Now, Mr. Darcy, tell me what it is that made you avoid your sweet cousin. Or" — Elizabeth leaned close to Darcy with a mischievous smile — "is there some great mystery about Anne which must be hid from anyone not of Fitzwilliam blood."

Darcy bent over and pulled up a daisy that had grown up next to the pathway. It was a pretty white and yellow blossom with a sweet scent, and Darcy twirled it between his fingers and then handed the blossom to Elizabeth. "Before my father died, I rarely spoke to Anne because Lady Catherine loudly insisted that we would marry and unite our great estates. I did not wish to be entangled. Then, once my father died, I asked to marry Anne — such a marriage would have solved all my financial problems — but happily, though I did not realize it then, Lady Catherine refused."

"Oh." A chill slithered down Elizabeth's spine. Darcy still needed to marry an heiress to protect Pemberley. She had refused to consider anything but the happy present for the past weeks. Darcy's story banished the spell of forgetfulness.

Darcy added, "Lady Catherine had found out about my father's debts. She had no knowledge of them prior to his death. However, in that first year, many friends of my father who had mortgages against Pemberley called the debts in when their annual term ended. I had to find fifty thousand pounds that year. It was my uncle's help which raised most of the money, but he had to go wide to ask enough persons to find it on such short notice. Eight thousand was even borrowed from Lady Catherine. Without his help I would have needed to sell part of the estate."

An anxious ball grew in Elizabeth's stomach at this confirmation of how Darcy depended on his uncle. She forced a false smile. "So a lack of money was of greater import than the presence of Fitzwilliam blood."

"My aunt is not always consistent in her opinions." Darcy's chest clenched when Elizabeth did not smile. She must fear that he would marry another. At least he hoped that was the true interpretation of her manner. "Elizabeth, surely you must know that I do not wish to marry —"

"What if Lady Catherine changes her mind? You told me that your situation has improved enough that despite the remaining debts, it is sound. If you told Lady Catherine how great your income is —"

"I will not marry Anne."

"She's a sweet girl. A little silly, but not a bad sort. I think her illness is a response to the tyranny of her mother. If she had sufficient exercise and some happiness, she would improve greatly. She would not be completely plain then. It would do her good to be away from —"

" _Elizabeth_."

"You promised to think about it."

That silenced Darcy.

"You should talk to your aunt," Elizabeth said, "If she knew how great your income was and what your remaining debts were she might change her mind. Try. Pemberley would be safe if you married her, and —"

"I have thought about it. I do not give a damn that she is rich, that it would protect my estate, that it would be a prudent choice. _She isn't you_. Elizabeth Bennet, I am going to marry you, or I shall not marry at all." Darcy looked into her eyes. "Elizabeth, we have spoken around this, but you know what my feelings are. They are unchangeable —"

"No please don't. Not again. It will ruin everything, I… I beg you — don't ask me."

"Why do you hesitate? What must I do to prove I love you? To prove I shall not change again. I know I hurt you greatly; I know I _deserve_ what treatment you choose to give me. But you are happy with me, _we_ have been happy together — think of your own happiness."

If he pushed her, she would… He needed to marry a rich woman. It _should_ be Anne. He wouldn't marry anyone else while he was so in love with her. He believed she loved him. She had to convince him that she did not. She would say he had hurt her too much, and now she hated him. Yes, she would say she hated him and find some vile way to say it so he believed her.

Elizabeth began to sob.

Darcy enveloped her in his broad arms and kissed her forehead. "As you wish, I shall not ask anything now. But know I love you and nothing can change that."

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Elizabeth made Darcy promise to at least befriend Anne. He had claimed that Lady Catherine would become offended and banish him from the house, but when Elizabeth insisted he promised to try.

Darcy carefully dragged Colonel Fitzwilliam with him when he spoke with Anne, both to avoid offending Lady Catherine and to avoid hinting to a lonely girl that he had any intentions. He was accustomed to Anne always being silent, and it shocked him that she had a great deal to say when allowed to. She was a clever girl, although her mind was infused with Lady Catherine's prejudices.

Darcy quickly realized Elizabeth was right: Anne must be removed from Lady Catherine's suffocating control. The instant Lady Catherine entered the room all of Anne's sweetness and intelligence disappeared, and she resolutely only spoke with one word answers and gave commands to Mrs. Jenkinson.

After a great deal of effort, Colonel Fitzwilliam convinced Lady Catherine that short walks in the warmth of spring would be neither unhealthful nor a sign of Jacobin sympathies. After Lady Catherine gave her permission, each day without rain the three cousins walked about the park. Usually, Elizabeth joined them.

Anne was very like Georgiana. Shy, sweet, and horrifyingly naïve.

Even though Darcy could see Anne saw how foolish her mother's dictates were, she always appeared frightened and darted her eyes about before saying anything which contradicted them. Anne was like a Spaniard in the days of the Inquisition who no longer believed in the Catholic Creed, but dared not speak against it, even amongst her closest friends, for fear of the torturers.

The days were pleasant, but Darcy hated that Elizabeth's spirits had been oppressed since the day she commanded him to befriend Anne. Once he and Anne had reestablished their childhood friendship, Elizabeth watched them with a manner that was half eager, half depressed.

Elizabeth would not let him reassure her, but he was not going to marry Anne, no matter what.

Three weeks after Darcy and Elizabeth arrived at Rosings Park, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Darcy sat down after their walk with Anne and Elizabeth. The group sat around a green marble table in the garden south of the great house. They were shaded by a towering beech tree. A soft breeze wafted the smell of the spring blossoms through the garden, and a trio of bright orange butterflies hopped from flower to flower.

"Now tell me another story," Elizabeth insisted.

For the past hour she had encouraged the cousins to share reminisces of their childhoods. Colonel Fitzwilliam and Darcy had competed to see who could embarrass the other more successfully. Anne smiled and occasionally added a comment about her father.

Darcy said, "Fitzwilliam, remember when the hermit scared you."

"He terrified you as well."

Darcy glanced at Elizabeth and laughed. "Yes, but I did not almost break my leg. And you were two years older than me."

Colonel Fitzwilliam drew himself up. "I _still_ am two years older than you."

Darcy waved his hand. "That is of no account. It matters more at that age. Twenty-eight is not really different from thirty. An eight-year-old has a right to be terrified of a crazed man with a swinging white beard. Those who have reached the great age of ten must be held to a higher standard. Besides the entire scheme was your idea."

"My idea? I was not the one who stole the black powder from Sir Lewis's stores."

Elizabeth clapped enthusiastically. "The black powder? The hermit? Do tell the whole story."

Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed and gestured at a hill visible over the garden hedges. "I know you have stomped around the park enough to have found the cave."

"The one with the fire pit and roughhewn bench cut into the wall? Your uncle allowed a hermit to live there?"

With a bright eyed grin, he replied, "Allowed? No, he _paid_ a hermit to live there."

"Truly? How singular."

"Nay. It was not singular — I understand it was the fashion during the reign of George II. I know of at least four estates that hired a man to live in a cave and act wise and religious for guests. It was picturesque."

"Ah, if it was a matter of fashion, then I doubt no more." Elizabeth laughed. "The habits of our predecessors quite mystify me. Such as panniers" — Elizabeth shook her head and looked at Anne — "It is very like your mother that she insists on wearing them to church. Why, almost no one has worn such metal hoops since long before any of us were born. I know myself well enough to admit that if it were the fashion, I _would_ wear such a metal frame beneath my dress, but I am glad we live in a more sensible age."

"Mama is a strong defender of tradition." Anne smiled. "Do tell me the rest of the story. I remember the hermit, his cave always smelled terribly unpleasant. And his eyes" — Anne shivered — "they protruded and had this wild look. When I disobeyed her, Mrs. Jenkinson said he was a gremlin who liked to eat little girls. I almost believed her, for he looked the part so well."

"Well. He didn't frighten _us_." Darcy drew himself up, the picture of eight-year-old bravery.

Elizabeth laughed, and Anne coughed in amusement.

"I confess we were a little frightened. But being boys we paid no attention to _that_. I, ah, requisitioned for military use a sack of the excellent black powder your father used for hunting. The hermit had chased us away from his area while we explored the park several times. Naturally our dignity required that we gain revenge. Richard thought that we should make a dozen firecrackers with the powder and hide them by the entrance to the cave while he was within. You see the enclosed area would make the sound much louder."

Elizabeth smiled and her cheeks dimpled. "That _was_ unkind of you. But did the daring scheme work?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam barked out a laugh and said, "Oh, yes, it was unkind. In retrospect we are fortunate his hearing took no permanent harm. But we were children with no sense that things could go wrong. And we got him properly angry at us. We had never heard him make a sound until then — part of his contract was that he was to never say anything, not even when the servants brought him food — but he shrieked from the back of the cave."

"Being fool boys, we both stepped out into the clearing in front of the cave and stood laughing and pointing at the entrance as he came out." Colonel Fitzwilliam paused to grin at the memory. "The bald old man stared at us, his white beard wagging, and then with a wordless growl he rushed us. We split immediately. I ran towards the river, while Darcy had the far cleverer idea to climb a tree."

"The best part of the story is how you screamed like a girl."

"I did not."

"Did too."

"I am a Colonel in his Majesty's army. It would be beneath my dignity to have _ever_ screamed like a girl."

"Did too."

Elizabeth giggled. She was delighted by the boyish squabbling, though they both exaggerated the absurdity of their argument for the audience.

Colonel Fitzwilliam said, "I cannot lie in front of a woman — while it was not a girlish scream, I confess I screamed when I slipped on one of the rocks in the stream and bashed my leg. But that was a soldierly, pained scream."

"No," Darcy said, "I watched from the tree top as you were swept along. You shrieked, 'Help me Fitz! Help me, Fitz! He's going to eat me!'"

Elizabeth laughed. Anne began to laugh as well, but as she always did when amused, she pressed her hand against her throat and coughed to keep the sound back.

"Why ever do you do that?" Elizabeth asked. "Every time you are amused, you keep yourself from laughing."

"Oh." Anne looked down at the table. "I do. It's a habit."

Anne traced her finger along a vein of white in the table's marble. "I know what you shall think, Lizzy. But I was raised as I was. It is too late to be undone. _You_ know what my mother thinks of laughter. She would not permit me to act in such a vulgar manner. She punished me anytime she heard me laugh, so I learned to stop."

Elizabeth pressed her hand against her mouth. That horrified her even more than how Lady Catherine bled Anne to stop her crying.

Darcy said, "You should laugh when you are with us. Laughter is a wonderful sound."

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That afternoon, Lady Catherine watched the group sit in the garden from the window of her private sitting room. Her daughter smiled happily. Lady Catherine knew why Darcy had tried to befriend Anne over the past week. It was easy to see through his design; he wanted Anne's money.

Such temptation was impossible for a Darcy male to resist.

Lady Catherine had not stopped Darcy because he could be sent off at any time. No harm could be done. Perhaps Darcy hoped Anne would imitate the gambler's wife and elope with a fortune hunter, but Lady Catherine kept too close an eye on her daughter to allow _that_.

She wasn't such a fool as Darcy.

He was her sister's son, and he had done a creditable job of disguising his hopeless ambitions. For her deceased sister's sake, she'd not banish him until he progressed beyond talking about idle topics to Anne in the presence of Colonel Fitzwilliam and that Bennet creature Anne wished for a pet.

Lady Catherine had never seen Anne smile and talk so much.

She smiled too much.

But her smile made Anne almost pretty. If she was happy, she must be falling into Darcy's trap. Lady Catherine had expected Anne to show more noble fortitude. But the Darcy family had always made handsome charming men.

Happiness was completely unimportant, but Lady Catherine felt a sentimental pain at the thought of ripping her daughter's smile away again.

The four, Anne and Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Bennet, made a pretty grouping around the table. Miss Bennet waved her hands excitedly. If she had gone to a proper school such ecstatic motions would've been trained out of her, but she was a very pretty picture of a girl. Lady Catherine was not confident she made the correct choice when she allowed Miss Bennet to freely associate with Anne.

Anne said something to Darcy. He smiled and nodded eagerly. Richard slapped his hand on the table to get attention.

Lady Catherine never slouched, but she allowed herself the small weakness of a sigh. Only the servants who sat behind her waiting for orders could observe it. Anne was five and twenty. Her health did not permit her to travel to London; likely it never would. Yet Anne must marry soon.

Someone should have appeared by now. Year after year, Lady Catherine had expected a gentleman with a great estate from a good family would visit the neighborhood and become attached to Anne. It had not happened. The only gentlemen who were given introductions to Anne were barely acceptable, yet they were still put off by Anne's blandness.

Beauty was not required for one of such a distinguished family lineage as the Fitzwilliams and de Bourghs. Anne had that in her face which marked her as being of distinguished birth. It made her appearance better than that of the handsomest of her sex. Which was fortunate, as Anne had little beauty, no vivacity, and she completely lacked the arts and allurements which women used to attract the wandering gazes of gentlemen.

Even now, when Anne looked better than Lady Catherine recalled ever seeing her daughter, the contrast between her aristocratically pale daughter and the vulgar brown Elizabeth Bennet made Anne's inferior charms clear.

Miss Elizabeth openly laughed at something Colonel Fitzwilliam said.

Anne must depend upon her fortune and family name to attach a gentleman.

Would Fitzwilliam Darcy _really_ be that awful a choice? It was time to admit her daughter was a failure as a woman and would never make a splendid match, or even a decent match. Darcy was the first gentleman with _any_ estate who had shown her this much attention.

How poor was her nephew?

Lady Catherine had expected Darcy to become a bankrupt and lose those magnificent fields and parks his family had held. After she sent him packing, Lady Catherine only thought of Darcy to express shock to herself that he still held out. Eventually, she and Matlock would find themselves supporting a pair of penniless relations.

Six years had passed since the death of George Darcy.

Lady Catherine remembered Pemberley, its vast park and endless, glorious fields. George Darcy seemed such a good match when Anne married. Such a large estate must generate a great income, and her nephew _claimed_ he practiced such extreme economy so he could reduce his debts quickly.

She looked out the window again. They were no longer laughing but instead had more appropriate solemn expressions. Darcy spoke intently to Anne who nodded her head attentively.

Her brother had supported Darcy. Lord Matlock was an almost sensible man despite his appallingly undignified manner. Her brother would not throw money endlessly at his nephew if there was no hope to salvage Darcy's fortunes. She needed to know, and soon, what Darcy's true situation was.

Lady Catherine sat at her desk and penned a quick letter demanding that Lord Matlock come down from London by the end of the week to speak to her about Darcy. It was during the break in parliament's session, and it would take him less than a day to travel each way. He could have no objection to immediately coming.

If her brother thought Mr. Darcy's situation was tolerable, she would let Darcy marry Anne.


	26. Chapter 26

As soon as Darcy entered the grove where he met Elizabeth, she spat out, "That horrid, horrid woman. I wish to strangle her with the ribbon of her oversized bonnet — to not let her daughter laugh. I swear I shall never complain about my mother again."

Darcy nodded sadly.

Elizabeth smacked her fist against her hand. "We won't stand for it. I will not allow my friend to stay under the thumb of that horrible, vile woman. We cannot let Anne remain here. You must find some way to get her away from Lady Catherine."

"What can I do? Anne is of age. It is her choice."

Elizabeth sneered dismissively at Darcy. Despite being a half foot shorter than him, she managed to look down on him. "She's your cousin. You have a duty to look out for her welfare."

Darcy didn't say anything.

Elizabeth peered at him; he frowned and rubbed at the back of his neck. She said, "You _will_ find a way to help Anne."

"You have done a far better job of caring for the welfare of my family than I have."

"Heavens. I already tried to convince Anne to create her own establishment — far away from that vile creature who claims to be her mother. The tyrant has scared her too much. Anne feels deep down that, even though she is now at age and in control of her own fortune, should she disobey her mother some terrible punishment will inevitably follow. Invite her to Pemberley."

"Lady Catherine would refuse permission. She would interpret such a request in the worst manner."

Elizabeth stared at Darcy. Elizabeth expected him to do something.

Under her gaze he thought about the problem. "You are right. We must get Anne away. My uncle is to visit the day after tomorrow, and I will consult him about the matter. Lady Catherine holds Lord Matlock in a certain — limited — respect as the head of the family and an earl. If that does not work…" Darcy shrugged. "Anne would not object if all of us together abducted her when we leave."

"That is a decent scheme. We can grab her and force her into a carriage, and by the time we have reached Hertfordshire, she'll be delighted at the distance." Elizabeth clapped. "If your uncle cannot help, that shall be our plan."

"Your plan is for us to _actually_ abduct my cousin? It may precipitate a bigger break with Lady Catherine than is ideal."

"Then find a better plan with your uncle. You say he visits the day after tomorrow. This is quite sudden, was it planned?"

Elizabeth suddenly jumped with enthusiasm. If Lord Matlock liked her sufficiently, maybe it would be possible for her to marry Darcy without costing him his estate. "I wish to meet him, very much. Shall he like me — or is he much like Lady Catherine?"

"Matlock is nothing like Lady Catherine." Darcy had a similar thought in his mind. While he would sell part of the estate to Mr. Windham if necessary, it was not his preferred solution. Before his marriage Bingley had been sure Lord Matlock could be brought around. "You shall charm him — you can charm anyone. He blusters and shouts and has a gruff manner. But he loves to laugh and talk, and he likes to speak with pretty women — but even now, three years after my aunt died, he is faithful to his wife's memory. He is mad for hound hunting and shooting, and though the season is wrong, we'll certainly gallop around the estate for some fun."

"His opinion matters very much to you."

"Yes — after my father died, he became like a second father to me. He dropped everything and spent months advising me how to get the most out of the estate. We rode over everything, and he told me stories about my mother and his youth. It was his connections that let me get top prices when I sold the townhouse and the lumber around Pemberley. We called on each other for a day or two every other week while he was resident at Matlock for the next year and… I hardly know what would have happened without him. I was driven but lonely also."

"I shall love him, I promise. Why is he coming down so sudden?"

"Apparently, Lady Catherine needs to consult him about some matter of importance, so she ordered him down by express. They will be closeted tomorrow evening when he arrives. I probably shall miss our walk the next day, as he might wish to consult me on the matter, or else Matlock will demand Richard and I hunt with him. That evening, unless matters devolve into a shouting match with my aunt, I will ensure you and the Collinses are invited for dinner."

Elizabeth took Darcy's arm and squeezed it. "I very much look forward to it."

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The morning after Matlock arrived, Darcy was ordered to present himself to Lady Catherine and Lord Matlock in the library. He expected such a summons and had been playing billiards with Colonel Fitzwilliam. The two gentlemen looked at each other and shrugged. Colonel Fitzwilliam grabbed Darcy's cue stick from him and placed them both in the rack, and then they walked to the library.

Both Lord Matlock and Lady Catherine smiled widely, and Matlock had set down a now empty glass of brandy when Darcy and his younger son entered the room. While Matlock refilled his glass, Lady Catherine exclaimed, "Richard! You are not needed here — I had not called for you."

Before Colonel Fitzwilliam could turn around, Matlock pulled another glass from the tray and filled it. "Nonsense. You can celebrate with us too. This is a good day."

Matlock handed Darcy a glass which had sat full on the tray when they entered the room and gave his son the tumbler he had just poured. Darcy cautiously sipped the expensive brandy. What was the occasion?

A tickle of anxious speculation rose.

Lady Catherine banged her cane onto the floor of the drawing room several times. The floor was covered with a red rug with vibrant woven patterns imported from Persia. "Darcy, I've decided your scheme will succeed. You can marry Anne. She is not becoming younger, and my brother informed me that your situation is _far_ better than I believed it to be. Do not hold your mouth open like that — a fly will enter it — in my day gentlemen always kept their composure when surprised. Always. I know you did not expect this, and no doubt hoped to convince her to elope with you, but you should have told me what your income was."

Darcy shook his head slowly and stepped back. Lady Catherine _wanted_ him to marry Anne now?

"Well" — Lady Catherine growled menacingly at Darcy — "show some gratitude — thank me and we will call Anne into the room to give her the good news."

Darcy sputtered, "You have not yet spoken to Anne?"

Lady Catherine narrowed her eyes and slammed her cane down again. "I raised her well enough. My daughter will do what she is told. _She_ will not run off and refuse if she cannot pick out her own husband" — Lady Catherine simultaneously looked pointedly at both Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam — "she is not like your former ward. Besides, for some fool reason Anne likes you."

Matlock had sat down in a stuffed armchair and crossed his legs. "Darcy, not all women are fools like Georgiana."

"I will say," Lady Catherine spoke, "you horribly managed your sister's education. The greatest blame goes to your awful father, but you two" — she stabbed her cane at Colonel Fitzwilliam and Darcy in turn — "failed as well. If only you had given me control over her education after Mr. Darcy died, none of this would've happened."

Darcy's mind raced. This was not how he wanted to inform his uncle that he was going to marry a girl without any dowry worth speaking of. Colonel Fitzwilliam frowned at him in concern.

Matlock laughed as the silence continued. "Behold, the lovestruck groom. You look like a man knocked out in a fight. Cheer up, Darcy, I promise you, the Parson's mousetrap is not so bad."

"I… I cannot understand, how did you come to decide this?"

Lady Catherine said, " _You_ schemed for it to happen. Why are you so shocked that I researched your situation while you were daily making love to Anne?"

"I never made love to Anne. Uncle, I assure you _nothing_ has been further from my mind than gaining Anne's hand. I—"

"By Jove, son — I've taught you to seize opportunity. Whether you planned this or not, you should be damned pleased. This will accomplish in less time than it takes to snap your fingers everything you've worked for. And I'll finally get all of the money I've loaned you back. You'll be clear and with your habits able to soon expand your holdings — In this degenerate age the crown gives titles to all sorts. Why not you? You shall have greater holdings than many earls, and" — Matlock grinned broadly — "while it does besmirch my modesty to say so, a better pedigree. How does Fitzwilliam Darcy, Earl of Pemberley sound to you?"

"I did not expect to marry so soon."

"Of course you did not, you're no mutton head. Suitable heiresses who'd overlook your debts are not two pence a dozen. But by Gad, when an opportunity of this sort arrives you seize it. You do not hesitate because you had not expected it."

"I know."

"This is not like you. It is your duty to marry Anne — you know it is."

"I know."

"Do not tell me you wish she was prettier. She did not look that plain last night, and it is beneath you anyways. Demanding everything look pretty, no matter how much it cost, was the sort of nonsense your father engaged in."

"I know."

Darcy stared at the corner of the room. The yellow and white winding geometric patterns of the wallpaper were intricate. Darcy's hand started to bounce on his leg with the tension. He pulled in a deep breath and sat tall. It was time to tell his uncle.

"I shall not marry Anne."

"What!" Lady Catherine screeched. "You two have been formed for each other since infancy. You are rich, and it will unite two of the greatest estates in England. I _order_ you to marry her. What say you to that."

Darcy eyed his aunt contemptuously.

"You are mad!" Matlock burst out. "You cannot have another heiress on the string."

"I am in love with a girl who has no dowry, and I shall marry her or not marry at all. Nothing you can say shall have any effect upon me. I have considered this choice from every angle, and here I stand."

Matlock exploded to his feet and towered over his seated nephew who held his gaze confidently. "A fortune hunter! You've lost your mind. I had worried when you wouldn't see sense after Georgiana married that gambler but now — by Gad, after all I've done for you, you owe me this."

"I owe you every consideration, and in any other matter I would respect your desires. But it is impossible for me to do as you wish."

"By Gad, by Gad. You are just like your father. The spitting image of that man. This is worse than anything he did. Rosings is worth more than everything he threw away, and you want to lose it over a piece of penniless baggage. You swore up and down that you would be nothing like that man. And now you've lied. Fitzwilliam, you disappoint me."

"I know I am too much like father. But I cannot control my affection for Elizabeth, and I long since have realized it was a mistake to ever try. Even if I could, I no longer would."

"You damned well ought to control it. No real gentleman lets himself be led about by his whore pipe — you are too damned sensible to do this."

Darcy did not say anything. Matlock's words hurt because he loved his uncle. But he had made his choice. It did not matter if it was the same choice his father would have made. Elizabeth was a part of him.

He could easier cut his own arm off than marry another.

"You are just like your father, I'll cut off every loan I've given you and tell everyone I know to not extend you more credit. Then you'll have to sell that bloody estate, just like your father sold the land around Lambton. You hear me — if you do not marry Anne, you will destroy even more of the Darcy legacy than _he_ did."

"I expected you would do so." Darcy stood. "It will not change my decision. I am sorry I disappointed you."

Darcy left the room as Lady Catherine screeched a demand to know who the baggage who dared to pollute the halls of Pemberley was.

After Darcy had left Lady Catherine's library, Matlock turned to his son and sister with a wide-eyed expression. "He didn't listen. I've never seen the boy act so in my life. Richard, you have been with him a great deal lately, do you know who this damned fortune hunter is? Can we work on her?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam said somberly, "Miss Bennet is not a fortune hunter."

" _Her_!" Lady Catherine slammed her cane against the floor with a splintering crack. "The sly piece of baggage who I let Anne speak to!"

"Yes, _that_ Miss Bennet."

"The wretched, scheming hussy! That vile, artful, headstrong girl! Such ingratitude! I have had her over for cards; I allowed her to dine at Rosings Park a full five times! And she repays me so, by entrapping my nephew with her arts and allurements. By seeking to rise above her station!"

Lady Catherine waved her cane in front of Colonel Fitzwilliam's face. "You! You watched them! You've been friendly with the girl. And all this time you told me nothing — you already suspected! You must have!"

Colonel Fitzwilliam glared at Lady Catherine.

Matlock said, "Richard! A fortune hunter had her claws in Darcy, and you said nothing to me?"

"Miss Bennet is no fortune hunter."

"She is a girl who has no dowry and who wishes to marry a very rich man. She is a fortune hunter."

"That is a poor syllogism. Their attachment exists for reasons independent of the question of fortune."

" _Obviously_ Darcy paid no attention to the question of fortune."

"On the contrary, he has paid far too much attention to it. You do not have my support in this matter, and you shall not gain it. I entirely support Darcy's hopes. Will you disown me as well?"

"Poor Anne!" Lady Catherine burst out, "Her friend has betrayed her; Miss Bennet feigned friendship to steal a husband from her. To think I have allowed my daughter to be hurt so! I shall order Mrs. Collins to have her friend turned out and sent back to Hertfordshire by dawn on the morrow."

"Wait!" Matlock said, "You know how loyal Darcy is. Harming the object of his affections will worsen the situation. He did not say he was engaged, and a woman can withdraw. Richard, tell me about this Miss Bennet. Can we convince her to refuse him?"

"Miss Bennet is the finest woman I've ever met, and she is completely devoted to Darcy's interests. You may be my father, but I will not help you."

Colonel Fitzwilliam left the room.

Lord Matlock bellowed, "Richard! Dickie! I didn't dismiss you!" He turned to his sister. "Ha! To be treated so by my own son and my beloved nephew. Why today has been an extraordinary day. Extraordinary! I'll cut Richard off if he is not careful. To treat me with such disrespect! Why when I was a boy, I never treated my father so."

Lady Catherine scowled at the open doorway, and she rapidly bounced her cane against the rug, making fast muffled taps. Matlock sat down and slumped backwards in the chair. "Damn," he muttered to himself, "and I had a perfect scheme for how to use the money once Darcy paid me back."

He poured himself another tumbler of brandy and drank it in one swallow.

They were both attached to this lady. Richard sounded half in love with the girl himself.

Young men. Not a particularly sensible lot.

Matlock settled his glass on the table. As a young man he _had,_ in fact, treated his father that way. Several times. One of them he had even been right to do so. Richard had turned out well.

The whole situation was a pity.

Most likely this Miss Bennet was a fine deserving woman if she had the loyalty of both his son and nephew. It didn't matter though. Marrying a penniless girl was foolish.

Matlock wanted the money back. He ostentatiously bought a large chunk of every new issue of Consols to make clear his support for the government and the army. Between that and his aid to Darcy, it had been impossible to enlarge his landholdings for the past five years. With the rapidity at which prices kept going up, soon it might become impossible to expand.

He wouldn't force Darcy to sell part of the estate to pay back the loans. Land was power. Besides, even if Darcy currently _was_ a mutton head, he loved his nephew like a son.

There likely was nothing he could do to stop Darcy from marrying this penniless Miss Bennet. He must decide how best to handle the inevitable. His estate was already plenty large in any case, and should the war ever end, his income from the government securities would be substantial.

Richard and Fitzwilliam were his favorite boys. Their good sense made it usually easy to manage them —ahem — to steer them away from mistakes he himself had explored as a youth. It was his eldest who gave Matlock headaches with his taste for expensive horses and women.

Matlock had just poured himself another brandy when Lady Catherine stood abruptly. She flung her chair violently backwards — making a mess of the room seemed to be the fashion today — and walked towards the door with an angry scowl.

"Where are you going, Cathy — it is too early to drink alone. I need you. "

Lady Catherine sneered at her brother. "I shall resolve this and see Miss Bennet off."

"Wait!" Lord Matlock set his glass down so quickly that the liquid sloshed onto the table. "You've not thought what you are about! If you shout at and mistreat this Miss Bennet, you shall arouse Darcy's protectiveness and honor. That will not separate the couple."

"I? Shout? Mistreat? I am the very soul and spirit of proper behavior. I admit I am frank, but it is right for a woman of my position to be so. It is Miss Bennet who has horribly mistreated our family. I merely wish to inform her that we know how horridly she has behaved and to appeal to her sense of duty, and honor, and… prudence. Yes, prudence, for we shall never acknowledge her were she to marry him."

Matlock stood. Lady Catherine's words had sparked an idea in his mind. "That might work! If she really is devoted to Darcy's interests, I can convince her that _he_ will benefit if she abandons him. Cathy, you must promise not to insult her."

His sister's sneer did little to convince Matlock.


	27. Chapter 27

Darcy first went to the parsonage, but Mrs. Collins's maid informed him that Elizabeth had left for a walk. Hoping Elizabeth would be there, he set off towards the grove they met in.

She was there.

Elizabeth stood in the sunlight smiling at the pretty purple blossoms of some wildflowers. Her bonnet was held in one hand, and the sun glinted off her dark hair. She wore it in a pretty chignon. Her dress was a light sprigged muslin, and for warmth she had a small red jacket.

Elizabeth heard Darcy approach, and she turned to look at him. There was something different in his eye. Her heart leapt. She felt an inkling of hope that maybe he'd gained his uncle's approval for a match between them. "You surprised me, I expected you to be closeted with your uncle and aunt for some hours discussing this terribly important family business."

Darcy studied her intently and took her hand.

"What is it? Am I to meet your uncle?"

"They demanded I marry Anne; Lady Catherine believes my situation now is acceptable."

Elizabeth's stomach seized. Her heart stopped and the whole world froze as she stared numbly into his eyes. She did not breathe.

Darcy saw her face go completely white and still. "Of course I said no — Elizabeth, I love you. I told him that I have already found the woman I shall marry, and —"

Darcy knelt. "Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth. Will you —"

"Your uncle — what did he say. Did he approve — or will he force you to sell your lands?"

Darcy grimaced, and he opened his mouth to reply.

Elizabeth spoke first, "He does not approve. Mr. Darcy, while I am conscious of the great honor you do me, I must —"

" _It doesn't matter_ — one of my neighbors wishes to buy a large piece of land. I shall get a good price — we can be happy with a smaller estate. Beloved Elizabeth, will you—"

"No, no, no. I will not be selfish. Not again. You will do your duty — your estate: it is what matters most to you. What you have always loved most. I _can't_ marry you." Elizabeth pulled her hand away from Darcy. "Fitzwilliam, you must marry Anne."

Darcy still knelt, his hands pleadingly reaching out towards Elizabeth. "I love you most. I shall not marry Anne; you know I shall not. It would stab my own heart. I cannot. It does not matter if you refuse me. My heart will always be yours."

Elizabeth began to cry. "Passion has overcome your reason and judgment. I will not be party to it — I will not. I know what happens when a marriage is established in a moment of passion. I see it daily with my parents. Right now you speak so, but… you'll despise what it cost you."

"I could never despise you."

"You would despise yourself. It would kill me to see. I can handle anything but that."

"I shall not. My soul cannot change. You love me. It is your happiness not just mine at stake."

"Do not say that —I do not need _you_ to be happy. I will weep to see you marry Anne, but though I am a woman, and though my feelings are strong, I will not remain unhappy. I will remember you always, but I shall laugh and love again. What would make me unhappy forever is if I hurt you."

"You hurt me by this obstinacy. I would never be unhappy with you. I tell you again. I no longer care that I shall sell part of my estate. It is not a matter I shall regret. Elizabeth, loveliest Elizabeth, I beg you to listen. You are my choice. My only choice."

"You are not speaking as a rational being. You told me once you would not let passion control you. Be that man again. Do what you must."

"Elizabeth —"

"You hate that you have abandoned your duty — I am still a mistake. Can you honestly tell me that you feel no guilt for pursuing me? That you truly _want_ to marry me?"

"I am incomplete without you."

Why couldn't he remember that he cared more about Pemberley than her? "I don't love you. Not anymore. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you."

Darcy stood and looked skeptically at her. "You must do better than that if you wish to drive me off. You are not a good liar."

Elizabeth sobbed. "I don't want to marry you — you know why — you are just like your father. You have no control over yourself. I cannot trust a man who will break every vow he made to himself. You'll be taken by another selfish passion, and then you will ruin everything and destroy your family. I will not marry a man like that."

The birds chirped in the wind rustled the leaves.

She couldn't look at him.

Oh, Lord. How had she said that? He'd defined his entire life as a struggle to be better than his father.

"Just… just marry Anne."

Elizabeth fled the grove, and Darcy did not call after her.

MDVMDVMDV

Despite visiting Rosings Park every other year for decades, Lord Matlock had never been inside the parsonage. It was a tidy house, with a pretty rose garden in the front that was well cared for. The parlor was snugly furnished with a white sofa and a pretty table in the center. There was a small clock above the mantelpiece.

The parson's wife, Mrs. Collins, was a sensibly dressed, though unattractive, woman of about thirty. She curtsied deferentially. "Your Lordship, this is a great honor. To what —"

"Do not be coy — where is Miss Bennet! Where is that scheming creature you took under your roof? Mrs. Collins, I am most severely disappointed in your choice of friends. Severely disappointed." To punctuate her disappointment Lady Catherine pounded her cane against the floor repeatedly.

Mrs. Collins kept an admirable control over her face and replied pleasantly, "I'm afraid Miss Bennet is out on a walk. She's been gone for well past an hour now and likely will return soon — usually she is not out so long as she already has been. Do you wish to sit while you wait? Is there any refreshment you might like?"

Lord Matlock smiled genially and settled onto the white sofa. "A cup of tea would be wonderful."

Cathy pounded her cane a few more times on the rug. Matlock winced. That definitely left a bald patch. This was why he preferred to meet his sister in _her_ house. Poor Mrs. Collins.

"I shall not sit," Lady Catherine proclaimed. "You deserve no such compliment any longer. Not while you keep such a betrayer of friendship under your roof."

"Why, whatever did Lizzy do?"

"She has used her arts and allurements to seduce my nephew and draw him away from his duty towards Anne."

"Anne? But, you said Mr. Darcy was not worthy of your daughter?"

"He did not reveal his finances to me. His situation has improved far enough that I will allow the match to continue. And that adventuress you've invited under your roof plans to steal him from Anne."

Mrs. Collins face became stiff. "I assure you my friend has little concern in his fortune. There has been a … connection betwixt them of some months standing. Since Mr. Darcy visited his friend Mr. Bingley at Netherfield. The report in our neighborhood had been that he was on the edge of bankruptcy."

"Of some months standing?" Lady Catherine banged the floor again. "That does not excuse your friend. Darcy has been destined for my daughter since they were both in their cradles. Now what have you to say?"

Mrs. Collins paused with her mouth half open. At last she said, "Of course, madam. An arrangement made when they were in their cradles predates Miss Bennet's claim on Mr. Darcy." She curtsied to Lord Matlock, "I shall have the tea prepared for you immediately."

The two were silent after Mrs. Collins left the room. Matlock decided he liked Mrs. Collins. There certainly was a well-hidden sarcasm in her response. Cathy continued to stand, leaning with both hands on her cane.

Matlock tapped his hand against the armrest. Miss Bennet must have been met by Darcy on the way. Likely Darcy had already made her an offer. It would be a matter of greater difficulty to break up a positive engagement.

Cathy continued to scowl.

Matlock said, "Oh, sit down. Your bad knee will not like it if you stand there like a statue for more than ten minutes. You are already irritable enough."

"I will not compliment this house. Not while that vile, scheming, wanton adventuress lives under its roof."

Mrs. Collins returned with a tea set and, after frowning at her husband's patroness, set it on the table and poured Lord Matlock a cup. "How do you take it?"

"Just the tea, no sugar, no cream — thank you."

Matlock sipped the tea; it was well brewed and fragrant. Mrs. Collins stood awkwardly, obviously unsure what to do. She glanced between Matlock and Lady Catherine.

"Sit down, Mrs. Collins. It feels deuced awkward to be seated while two gentlewomen are standing. I am too old to stand about like a post because my sister is in an awful pet. Tell me about Miss Bennet. What sort of girl is she?"

Mrs. Collins did sit down, glancing cautiously at Lady Catherine who sniffed dismissively. "Well… I've known Lizzy for my entire life, and we have been particular friends since she was fifteen."

"No longer!" Lady Catherine stabbed the air with her cane. "I demand you cut off the relationship entirely."

"Madam, I will not. I know my husband owes you a great deal, and in every other matter I shall defer to your wishes, but not in this case."

Lady Catherine's face reddened, but before she replied, the front door to the house was opened and then the parlor. The young lady who entered could only be Darcy's Miss Bennet. Her shoulders slumped dejectedly, and she had red eyes. She'd been crying and hadn't wiped her wet cheeks.

What on earth had happened? Matlock knew Darcy too well to believe he had come to his senses. Even if they convinced Miss Bennet to refuse him, it would likely be at least a sixmonth before he could talk Darcy into marrying Anne.

When Darcy got an idea in his head, he was like a careening carriage. Nothing could stop him.

Miss Bennet's obvious unhappiness made Matlock feel a swell of goodwill and sympathy for her.

Cathy, of course, needed to shout. "Miss Bennet! You have seduced my nephew! What have you to say for yourself?"

Damn her. Was Cathy really so fat-witted that she could not see that the girl was near tears?

When Miss Bennet said nothing, Cathy repeated, "Have you _nothing_ to say for yourself?"

"Nothing."

The flatness in Miss Bennet's voice pulled at Matlock's heart. He was not an unfeeling man.

"Cathy, that is quite enough. There is no need for you to shout at her."

"No! I'm not some foolish man to be taken in by a pretty face. I will have my say! I will not leave until I have been given satisfaction." Cathy turned to Miss Bennet with a superior sneer. "You are the most selfish and unfeeling girl I've ever had the misfortune to meet."

"How dare _you_ insult me so!" The young lady's manner shifted in an instant. Till then she had stood with slumped shoulders and a depressed acceptance of every insult.

She thrust her nose into Cathy's face. Lady Catherine recoiled at the violence in Miss Bennet's manner.

" _How dare you_! I am not unfeeling! I swear I feel full better than you ever have. Don't you dare claim I care nothing for Mr. Darcy. You, _you_ are the most selfish, vile, _evil_ woman I have ever met. You hurt, hurt, _hurt_ everyone around you. You have destroyed your daughter's life, by your _vicious_ demands for her to follow your idiotic notions of good breeding! I swear, you have _never_ had an unselfish thought for another human being in your life."

Matlock's eyes were wide as saucers. That was impressive — what a woman!

Miss Bennet turned to walk towards the door again. Cathy blocked her way to the exit with the cane. "You. You, you… I am not accustomed to being treated in such a manner, Miss Bennet. That was most uncivil. You shall apologize."

Uncivil? That was the best reply Cathy could find? She was certainly not used to being gainsaid.

"You deserve such treatment. I am not frightened of your rank and consequence. I have no need for your good opinion, and your ill opinion will harm me none. I've already lost what I cared to have most, and… and, nothing you can do will —"

Miss Bennet clapped her hand over her mouth and pinched herself as tears began to fall. She slowly pushed past Cathy's cane. So Darcy _had_ told her they could not marry.

Poor girl, she was devastated.

Matlock wanted to do the pretty girl some service. He stood and called out to her, "Miss Bennet, I am terribly grieved that you have been hurt — I wish it did not need to be this way — but surely you must see it was for the best that Darcy ended your connection. If you really care for him, you should be pleased that he will marry so well."

"Is that what you think happened?" She turned her brilliant flaming eyes on him. There was something dangerous in her expression. "You think Darcy changed his mind? He did not. He asked me to marry him. I told him again and again we could not. I begged him to marry Anne, because it is what he must do to — to protect the estate he's always loved. I begged him, and then I said the most vile thing I could think of to hurt him, so that he might be free from the damned passion he feels towards me. Likely he hates me now. I do not know if he will marry that poor girl. I have done my best."

Matlock wanted to smack his forehead. Of course _Darcy_ hadn't changed his mind about the girl. He had been as nitwitted as Cathy to imagine it.

Angry tears leaked from Miss Bennet's eyes, and she waved a finger in Matlock's face. " _You_. You care nothing for him either. Your nephew is the best, most honorable, most upright, strongest minded man in England. And despite bonds of affection and blood, you force him to marry against his will to satisfy your greed."

"I care greatly for Darcy — do not claim I don't! Calm yourself, Miss Bennet, you are distraught and speaking nonsense."

Her eyes blazed and they were very pretty. "I shall not calm. You will not frighten me — not though you are an earl. I care not a whit for your consequence or title. The goodness of a man's character matters most."

Matlock tried to speak, but Miss Bennet did not allow him, "Have you heard how your nephew speaks of you? Have you? Fitzwilliam looks up to you. He said you were like a second father to him. He told me how you taught him and helped him after his father's death. He loves you, not just as a blood relative, but as a dear friend and mentor. And _you_ — you threatened to withdraw your support of him so that he would behave as you wished in such a private and important matter. _How could you_?"

She sneered through her tears. "I am ashamed for you. Ashamed. Your sister I can understand, as she lacks all human feeling, but from your nephew's report I had expected better of you. I am done with you both." She said to Lady Catherine, "You need not bother to throw me out of your lands. I shall be gone with the afternoon post."

Miss Bennet marched out of the room.

Matlock let his breath out with an explosive gust. Damn, what a woman! She was right. He never should have threatened Darcy. He also never should have compared him to his father. Matlock whistled and shook his head; he grinned widely.

Lady Catherine exploded, "I have never been treated in such a manner in my life — Mrs. Collins, you shall cut off all contact with that horrid, horrid girl. Do you understand me?"

"Now, Cathy, do not be ridiculous — no, be silent. For once _be silent_. Mrs. Collins, my apologies for the disruption of your day, and I am certain you wish to attend your friend. If my sister attempts to harm you or your husband in any way over this matter, please contact me, and I will make sure you do not suffer in any material sense."

Lady Catherine smashed her cane against the floor. "What are you about? That girl —"

"That girl shall soon be related to you. For if Darcy is blockheaded enough to give up such a woman, I'll make a play for her myself."

"What!"

The screech in Cathy's voice amused Matlock. "I do miss her still, but Emma has been dead these three years and Miss Bennet — what a woman." He smiled at his sister's horrified expression. "I've not been yelled at that way since Mother died — and her rebuke was fully deserved. Darcy is a lucky man, a lucky man. His life shall never be boring."

It was a pity Miss Bennet had no money, but Darcy would have been barely human if he let that consideration stop him. Matlock would have made the same choice as his nephew. There were things which mattered more than money and land. What a woman!

Lady Catherine sneered. "Men. You are all alike. Easily taken in by a pretty face and manner. To think that a girl of that sort may one day take the place which Lady Anne Fitzwilliam held! Are the shades of Pemberley to be thus polluted? You cannot approve of her — you have no proper sense of your status; she showed the most severe disrespect."

Matlock laughed. His sister had very definite ideas about things. He grabbed Cathy by the arm and pulled her out of the parsonage, "It was not her pretty manner which took me in. Quite the opposite. When you are through with your anger, we ought to settle upon some new plan, one which actually can be carried through, for settling Anne. It is past time she married."


	28. Chapter 28

Darcy was alone in the sunlit clearing. Elizabeth's words rang in his ears.

That had not gone well.

Darcy raked his hands through his hair, puffing it wildly out, and then he shrugged out of his coat and threw it forcefully against the ground. He looked up at the puffy white shapes of the clouds, and took a deep breath.

What was he to do now?

 _You are just like your father. You have broken every vow you made to yourself. Elizabeth deserves a husband who was not controlled by selfish passions._

Such words had whispered in the dark part of his soul since he saw her again in Ramsgate. He would rather be like his father with Elizabeth than be anyone else alone. Perhaps Elizabeth deserved better, but _he_ was who she loved.

The wind rustled through the abundant spring growth. Some small animal shifted the grass about in its passing. He was soaked with sweat, and without his coat the wind blew pleasantly through his shirtsleeves.

Darcy absently undid the knot of his cravat and without looking dropped it to the ground beside his coat. He found a rock to settle against.

He _wasn't_ like his father, and he never had been. His damned father would have tried to make Elizabeth his mistress and married Anne because she would improve his consequence and impress his friends.

He _really_ wasn't like his father.

Fuck.

He'd _wasted_ half his life.

Darcy laughed for a long time.

He then cried.

He had always been his own person, with his own flaws and virtues. He had never needed to prove he was better than his father. They were different men. He wasn't failing by loving Elizabeth and marrying her. He was making a choice. The right choice.

Darcy stood and he felt like a new man.

He looked around. It was like he had never seen a tree before — they were beautiful. The sky was clear and blue. The grass beneath his feet was springy.

This must be what religious mystics felt after they received a vision.

Darcy collected his things and walked back to Rosings Park. Elizabeth would not be prepared to listen to him again for a few hours more. He would first convince Anne to leave her mother. Somehow it would happen.

Also he should draft a letter to Mr. Windham. He'd been something of a fool to refuse his offer to purchase all these years. Both Windham and his son were decent men who dealt fairly with their tenants. It would be sad for part of the estate to pass from his hands, but life involved change.

When Darcy entered the ostentatious entry hall, Anne ran up to him. "Fitzwilliam, what is going on — there was shouting, and then you left, and then Richard left, and then Mama and Uncle Matlock left. Why aren't you wearing your coat?"

Anne eyeballed him, and with a blush Darcy quickly pulled his tail coat back on and clumsily wrapped the cravat around his neck. "There was an argument."

She rolled her eyes.

"I refused when your mother said — it was no insult to you — Lady Catherine decided I am now a fit husband for you, but I declined the offer. It is not because I dislike —"

"Of course you did. You and Lizzy love each other." Anne slumped. "I do wish there were someone I could marry, who might take me away. _She_ will be terribly angry."

"Anne, you need to leave. You are a sweet woman, if you enter a new neighborhood, I know you can be happier. I — you must stay with me. With Elizabeth if I can convince her to have me. She is desperate to see you happy and away from your mother."

"You know I cannot."

"You are an adult. You are of age, and you control your fortune. Your mother can punish you no longer."

"I know, but —"

Darcy took Anne's hand. "Please, I need your help. Elizabeth is unhappy with me and has refused to marry me because — well, because I've been a fool. If you promise to live with us, it will help me convince her."

"She did? Whatever did you do? I can observe she loves you. If you think I can help, I will. I would like to live with Lizzy and you. But… I am still scared of Mama."

"We could leave without telling her. I'd prefer not to listen to her shout myself."

Anne giggled and coughed. "She would be so confused."

Colonel Fitzwilliam entered the room. "There you are, Darcy — my father and Lady Catherine are bothering Miss Bennet at the parsonage. I've been looking for you. Whatever are you two speaking of?"

Anne smiled and said, "I'm going to leave Rosings Park. I will. I will live with Lizzy and Darcy. I will defy _her_."

"Very good." Colonel Fitzwilliam clapped. "Did Miss Bennet at last accept you?"

Darcy shook his head. "Not yet, but I now know what to say."

Lord Matlock and Lady Catherine entered the room. Seeing Darcy and Anne still holding hands, Matlock pulled up agog. "Good God, Darcy! You didn't propose to Anne?"

Startled the two jumped apart.

"No. I told you that I shall marry Miss Bennet or not marry at all. If you end our connection over this matter, it will greatly sadden me, as I have the greatest respect and affection for you, but you cannot modify my decision in the slightest."

Matlock replied with an open toothed grin. "Capital. Capital. I expected nothing else from you."

Lady Catherine exploded. Her cane cracked and echoed like a gunshot as she slammed it against the marble floor of the entry hall. "Darcy! Drop this foolishness at once! That impertinent, ungrateful creature shows no deference to her betters! Her habits already corrupt you."

Blotches of red mottled Lady Catherine's face, her voice rose with every word, and she almost hissed, "Everything demands you marry Anne. Conscience, duty, honor, the wishes of your family, the wishes of your friends — everything! Are you to ignore every right and proper circumstance? It is your duty — do you not feel it in your _soul_? Can you not feel your mother's spirit begging you to marry Anne? Will you allow the shades of Pemberley to be so polluted! Listen to your conscience!"

"My conscience, my reason, my friends — everything demands I marry the woman I love."

"You fool," Lady Catherine spat. She waved the steel shod tip of her cane in wide circles, "Oh! Oh — if only my sister saw this. To see the Fitzwilliam blood sunk so low! You, like your sister, are Darcy through and through. If you marry that vile, wanton whore, you will pollute the dignity of your great name."

"Enough! I shall hear no further insult against Elizabeth. Were you a man I would call you out for those words."

Matlock laughed. "Your Miss Bennet can defend herself — You should've seen her light into me and Cathy. It was extraordinary. What a woman. Darcy, if you are fool enough to let her go, I'll go after her. Don't doubt it."

Darcy shook his head in confusion and looked at Colonel Fitzwilliam, who gave his cousin a wry shrug. "What did you say to Miss Bennet? I'll not allow you to mistreat her."

Lady Catherine scowled. Matlock laughed again. "You've underestimated your girl. Someday" — he poked his finger in Darcy's direction — "Someday, son, you'll make her angry — it happens in even the best marriage — and then you will understand. You'll wish you offended a thunderstorm instead of your wife. What a woman!"

Darcy's voice was unusually high pitched, as he asked "Wait. Wait — what did Elizabeth _do_?"

"She shouted your Aunt Cathy down. Then she turned away with her head held high, leaving her speechless opponent behind." Matlock grinned at his sister. "I've never seen Cathy so speechless before in my life!"

"Elizabeth shouted at Lady Catherine?" Of course Elizabeth had. She _hated_ Lady Catherine after Anne told about being punished for laughing.

"And me as well!" Matlock's eyes lit with eagerness, "It was a thing of beauty! She took me to task for how I treated you. An earl — she boldly said she was ashamed for me." Matlock laughed again. "I've not been berated so by a woman since Mama died. Darcy, I should not have threatened you with cutting off the loans. It was wrong of me; your lady rightly took me to task for it."

They all stood there. Lady Catherine scowled. Matlock asked, "What were you discussing when we entered the room?"

Anne fearfully looked at her mother. Darcy squared his shoulders and stepped towards Lady Catherine, "Madam, your daughter does not wish to always stay with you. We have agreed that she shall live in my household after I marry."

Lady Catherine waved her cane in Darcy's face. "You dare to separate me from my daughter? Who are you to do so when you refuse to marry her yourself? The only way I'll let you take her from me is following her wedding!"

"Mother!" Anne shouted in her thin voice. "This is my choice not Darcy's."

Lady Catherine sneered at her daughter. "You ungrateful girl! After I raised you, and bore you, and put forth all my powers to your edification. After all the care and concern I have given to you — you think to show me such impertinence. I will not have it. I will not!" Anne shrank back as Lady Catherine strode towards her.

Darcy stepped between them and grabbed Lady Catherine's hand to force her cane down. "You stifle her and prevent her from developing any accomplishments of her own. You have harmed your daughter."

Lady Catherine brought her left hand around and slapped Darcy full on the face. She pulled her hand from his grasp, but left her cane in Darcy's possession when he refused to relinquish it. "Anne, go to your room. I will deal with you once I have thrown this" — she looked Darcy up and down with disgust — "out."

Anne alternated between the red mark on Darcy's face and her mother in shock. She backed away. "No, I am not a child you can order to her room. I will not be treated so. I will not. I am done — I know what I wish and I will pursue it — nothing you can do will stop me." Anne giggled hysterically. "You can't punish me anymore. You can't stop me! You can't! You can't!"

"You ungrateful chit!" Lady Catherine stepped towards her daughter with her fingers curled like claws. Darcy moved to grab her, but Matlock was faster.

"Cathy, you've had a difficult day — you've never dealt well when things don't work out the way you want — but you've already proved Darcy and Anne's point. Pray, don't add further evidence."

The Earl of Matlock held his sister at arm's length by the elbows. They stared furiously at each other until Lady Catherine blinked and stopped struggling. She stared at her hands. "Oh."

"Yes, dear sister, you just struck your nephew with your bare hands, like some back alley drab — _what were you thinking_?"

There was a long pause. Lady Catherine burst out, "That mad girl drove me to it!" She looked at Darcy. "It was beneath me to strike you, even though you deserved it."

Darcy stared back with a flinty gaze.

Lady Catherine growled, "You will be a terrible fool if you marry that horrid, penniless girl instead of my Anne. And you" — she pointed at Anne — "will be an even worse fool if you think you can manage yourself without me. Without my care you'll be dead of illness within a year, or, worse, you will marry some fortune hunter like your cousins."

Lady Catherine tore herself from Matlock's grip and stepped back. With an exaggerated gesture she rubbed her palms past each other. "You are all fools. Fools. I wash my hands of the lot of you."

She left, slamming the door behind her.

The remaining four looked at each other, and then Colonel Fitzwilliam let his breath out in a gust. "That was something." He quirked his mouth. "The way she waves her cane around — I always thought she might strike one of us someday."

Anne giggled. Everyone looked at her, and her laugh grew as she looked around bright eyed. Colonel Fitzwilliam joined her in laughing, followed by his father and Darcy. Each time the giggles died out, Anne mimicked her mother, and everyone began laughing again.

At last they were mostly calm, though still smiling. Matlock looked at Darcy. "You need to chase your lady down. Cathy ordered her out of the parsonage, and she plans to leave on the afternoon post. We all have things to talk about, and I'd rather not wait till you return from Hertfordshire — besides I'd like to meet my new niece properly."

"I cannot bring Elizabeth back to this house — I will not stay under its roof longer myself."

"Hang Cathy! She's a fool — 'tis not her house in any case, it's Anne's. Your aunt only has a lifetime right of residency."

Darcy nodded weakly; he looked at Anne.

Anne smiled brightly. "Lizzy is a dear friend. I would love to make her welcome."

Darcy studied the black and white diamonds of the marble floor. "She refused me once today. Maybe I should give her more time to calm before I approach her again."

Matlock said, "Don't be ridiculous. Girls like to be chased, so long as they don't hate the man chasing them."

Colonel Fitzwilliam added, "I would not worry over much. She loves you."

Darcy realized he had not much more than an hour to catch her before the post carriage would leave. He rushed from the room.

MDVMDVMDV

The post station was bustling. A young couple with a child sat on a bench across from Elizabeth. The darling girl had thin blonde hair and delicate blue eyes. She ran back and forth between a patch of flowers and her parents. The husband wore a cheap green coat and a brown patterned cravat. They sat tight against each other. The woman's eyes glowed as she watched her daughter. Each time the little girl finished showing them a blade of grass or a beetle she had found, the woman turned and said something to her husband; their eyes would meet, and he would smile.

Elizabeth's eyes swam with tears. Could they not have found some other day, or some other place, to be happy?

Her trunk was lodged besides the bench, and Charlotte sat next to her with her bag on her lap reading from a collection of poetry. Elizabeth had tried to talk her out of it, but her friend insisted that she would travel to Hertfordshire with Elizabeth, and only return after she had seen Elizabeth settled back at Longbourn.

Though she did not want to talk, Elizabeth was glad for the company.

Darcy cantered into the yard. He looked at Elizabeth.

She sat on a wooden bench shaded from the afternoon sun by the inn. Vines covered the wall behind her, and the green paint was half peeled off the bench she sat on. Her expression was forlorn as she watched a child play in a planter. Mrs. Collins sat next to her and read from a thin volume.

Darcy dismounted and threw the reins of his horse to a stable boy. Elizabeth looked up at the noise, and she gasped. She covered her mouth with her hand and smiled helplessly as Darcy sat next to her and took her hand.

He had followed her again.

Wordlessly, Charlotte stood and sat next to the young couple Elizabeth had been watching.

Darcy pulled Elizabeth's hand up and kissed it. There was something different about his manner — a tension which had always been there was gone. He spoke in his confident, unwavering tone, "I am not my father."

"I know, I know. You are not" — He kept smiling at her — "I did not mean it. I only said that because —"

Darcy brushed his free hand over her lips. He brushed his finger along her forehead, pushing aside errant curls. Darcy's eyes were impossibly tender. "I had not known."

"Oh."

"Elizabeth, I wasted so many years trying to be a man who I already was. I needed you to tell me I was such a fool. I _need_ you."

Darcy's hand enveloped hers. Elizabeth began to cry happy tears. "Are you certain? You love your uncle. He must hate me for I shouted at him. And you have struggled so much to protect your land."

"I strove so desperately because I feared I would become my father. I fear that no longer. I know who I am. I love my estate, but I love you far more." He squeezed her hand once more. "Elizabeth Bennet, you must allow me to tell you how ardently _and_ rationally I admire and love you. If you marry me I shall be the happiest of men. Can you love me enough to unite yourself to me, despite my many flaws and follies?"

Elizabeth could not reply with words, but her nod and wide smile provided Darcy the response he wished for. She pulled his hand to her mouth and kissed it. She continued to cry in happiness.

They realized at the same moment that they were in public and that the group gathered to wait for the post carriage was grinning at them.

Charlotte stood and walked to shake their hands. "I am so, so deeply happy for you both."

Darcy grinned gaily. He would keep smiling even if he looked like a loon. It did not matter that they were in front of a crowd. He kept Elizabeth's hand.

The post carriage arrived, and Elizabeth exclaimed, "Oh! I must leave on it — Lady Catherine is very angry with me, and I fear your uncle as well. Will you come with me? Bingley will let you stay at Netherfield."

"It is not necessary. While Lady Catherine has roosted at Rosings like an overfed vulture, it is owned by Anne. We talked, and she shall not submit to her mother anymore. Lady Catherine cannot be thrown out of Rosings Park due to Sir Lewis's will, but Anne has agreed to live with us, and she stood up to Lady Catherine this afternoon."

"She did!" Elizabeth smiled happily. "I am so happy. I do like her, and she shall be very welcome." Elizabeth's grin threatened to split her face open. " _We_ will be happy to have her live with _us_. Oh, I am so happy."

As they had not climbed on, the driver of the post carriage let out a shout to the horses, and the vehicle clattered off towards London over the dirt of the turnpike. Elizabeth waved happily, feeling she was being delightfully silly, at the departing carriage.

Charlotte said, without either of them paying much attention to her, "I shall find a porter to carry your trunk back to the parsonage." She walked into the inn.

Elizabeth said to Darcy without her smile fading. "What about your uncle. I must apologize to him. I was dreadfully rude."

"You were charming."

"I know _you_ always think that. But I was not. I accused him of being a horrible man. He was threatening you, so he deserved it, but he is an earl. He could not have been charmed."

"He was. In fact, _he_ is why I hurried here so speedily. He was muttering about plans to steal you from under me. He thinks very highly of you."

Elizabeth laughed. "Be serious."

"I am. He said that he'd set his cap at you if I was fool enough to let you go. Also, he believes you were right when you shouted at him."

"Oh." Elizabeth grabbed Darcy's arm and squeezed it tightly. "You mean you shall not need to sell any land?"

"I shall not _need_ to. However, I might. My neighbor Mr. Windham has long wished to purchase from me. He is as conscientious of a landlord as I am — if I hand the land to him and his son, I will not fail my duty to my tenants, and I would feel easier if my interest charges amounted to only a fifth of my income instead of a third."

Elizabeth peered at Darcy closely. He appeared serious. "Do you truly not care anymore?"

"I do care. It would hurt to have the deeds handed over. But I… I have changed. You changed me. Our happiness together is all that I need."

 **AN: So _at last_ they will marry! I hope you all have enjoyed the story, and while there is one more chapter I will post tomorrow (hopefully...), and an epilogue which will be posted someday, the book is almost over.**

 **If you enjoyed reading it, I'd like to ask you to do a favor for me: Seriously think about donating to Doctors Without Borders. I donate to them every month because I want to help those people who are desperately in need, people who often have no other access to antibiotics and basic medical care. We all act in other ways to make the world a better place, through our families, our communities, and donations to other important organizations. But we should never forget that every human being is valuable, and there are very few places where we can make a bigger difference for another person than when it is a matter of life and death. So please, let's work together to save lives.**


	29. Chapter 29

Mr. Bennet pulled off his spectacles and wiped at them with a cloth pulled from his desk. "You _now_ wish to marry Lizzy?"

"Yes."

"Why? You had been very decided against my daughter. I am disappointed that Bingley and Jane did not keep you separated. I had no notion, until you handed Lizzy out of your uncle's carriage an hour ago, that you two were in the same part of the country."

Darcy felt nervous. If he could not get Mr. Bennet to agree immediately, things would become far more difficult. He did not want to elope with Elizabeth. He wanted to marry by special license tomorrow morning. That required Mr. Bennet's permission.

None of Darcy's anxiety showed in his manner though. He spoke confidently, "I made a mistake and acted unwisely at Mr. Bingley's wedding. I have since come to see matters more clearly."

"You made a mistake?" Mr. Bennet put his spectacles back on and perched them on the edge of his nose so he could stare at Darcy over them. "I fear you _now_ are making a mistake."

Darcy blinked and replied with a crooked smile, "Should you not worry about my finances instead of the sincerity of my affection? Surely you think highly enough of Elizabeth to believe her capable of inspiring strong devotion."

"I think very highly of Elizabeth. I also think very ill of youthful passion. Mr. Darcy, I have made many mistakes. Not six months had passed after my wedding before I was convinced I had made the deepest mistake of my life. Elizabeth is not like Mrs. Bennet. She would become miserable if she believed you regretted marrying her. I do not want to make yet another irreversible mistake by permitting a marriage which should be stopped."

Darcy leaned back and rubbed his chin. _You would regret it. You still think it a mistake_. Mr. Bennet's words were familiar. "Had you told Elizabeth about your unhappiness after I … after Bingley's wedding?"

"I did." Mr. Bennet showed Darcy his palms. "Why do you ask?"

"You made my task of convincing her to marry me when we met again far harder. Elizabeth has worried that I would eventually believe I made a mistake. Mr. Bennet, the only objection any man could have to your daughter is her lack of fortune and high connections. She is wise, and clever, and everything that is lovely. It is not just a matter of carnal desire. She is my dearest friend and companion."

"Those are sweet words. But she does _not_ have fortune or connection. That once mattered more to you."

"No, it never did." Darcy held up his hand. "Please, let me explain."

Darcy paused, not sure what words would be best. The matter of how he felt about his father was too private for him to easily speak about it with anyone but Elizabeth.

Mr. Bennet frowned at him skeptically.

"My father was a very extravagant man who left great debts — debts which are not so large that they will prevent me from providing a very, very good life for your daughter and our children —"

" _I_ never thought you were nearly bankrupt. You have the manner of a driven man, not a desperate one. Also, my brother-in-law's wife grew up near your estate, and I had her inquire of old acquaintances about your situation. I know enough to know that your income is far greater than my own, and probably Bingley's as well."

"So I shall not need to retrieve papers from my banker in London or have my uncle testify as to my finances?"

"I am concerned for my daughter's happiness — not her consequence. Talk to Mrs. Bennet if you wish to be interrogated about your wealth."

"Mr. Bennet, I was frightened I might one day act as my father did. It made me instinctively deprive myself of anything I desired to prove I was better than him. I… I am not my father. It had been stupid to fear I was. I needed Elizabeth to tell me that. I, like you, shall no doubt make many mistakes in the future. But I will listen to Elizabeth when she tells me I am being a fool. As one man who makes mistakes to another, surely you will not be so cruel as to remove my only hope of avoiding stupidity."

Mr. Bennet chuckled. "You suggest I let my favorite daughter marry you _because_ you are a fool."

Darcy leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs confidently.

"Fine. You have convinced me — I shall miss her, but she loves you dearly. Now go and send her to me when you find her."

Darcy uncrossed his legs and tapped his foot on the rug. "There is another matter."

Mr. Bennet lowered his spectacles again and peered at Darcy.

"You see… well… that is to say, me and Elizabeth, we would like…"

"Out with it. It cannot be that awful. Hesitancy is not a good look on you."

"We wish to marry very quickly."

"Be more precise. How quickly?"

"She is not — we have not — I would not —"

"So despite the flames of youthful passion, my daughter's virtue is intact." Mr. Bennet continued in a sarcastic tone, "I am delighted to hear it. This is a conversation every father wishes to have with his daughter's suitor. I take it you wish to marry as soon as possible. Tomorrow, if you can find the Archbishop of Canterbury and buy a special license off him?"

"Yes. We have waited so long and both of us are eager —"

"Mr. Darcy, when I said this is a conversation every father wishes to have, I was telling an untruth."

Darcy blushed.

"You have my permission, but it is up to you and Lizzy to inform my wife of the whole matter. Do leave. And send Elizabeth in once you can spare her."

"Yes, sir." Mr. Bennet suddenly seemed frightening, and Darcy immediately left the room. Elizabeth anxiously paced in the hallway.

"Did he give permission? Is he unhappy?"

Darcy took Elizabeth's hand and entangled his fingers with hers. "I don't believe so. I now understand why you worried I would regret marrying you."

Elizabeth frowned. "What did he say?"

"Only that he wished he had not married your mother."

"She behaved as I did. My father was reluctant, so she kissed him to seduce him."

Darcy pulled Elizabeth into a light embrace and, aware that her father was in the next room, kissed her forehead. "Elizabeth Bennet, you are no more like your mother than I am like my father."

Elizabeth craned her neck to look up at Darcy's face. He always made her feel better. "You are right. The similarities are only superficial. After all, it is your handsome person I wanted, not your fortune."

Darcy grinned. "Precisely. And you were desperately in love with me."

"As I recall it was mainly your handsome person I wanted. Oh! — Can we marry tomorrow?"

"Yes, tomorrow." Darcy grew warm and tense. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach as he and Elizabeth stared into each other's eyes. She leaned up on her toes to kiss him.

After a minute Darcy pushed her away. "Anyone could pass this way, and" — Darcy lowered his voice and gestured his head towards the door — "your father is right there."

Elizabeth pouted.

Darcy whispered into Elizabeth's ear. "Tomorrow, I shall kiss you until our knees go weak and we cannot stand, and then we shall lie in our bed next to each other, and I shall kiss down your neck, and then I shall loosen your corset and begin to kiss —"

Elizabeth pushed him away. She was blushing bright red. "Remember, my father is in that room. He might hear you."

"He wants to see you."

After another minute Darcy went to the stables to ensure that the horses for the carriage had been changed so they could leave for London soon.

Mr. Bennet embraced Elizabeth when she entered the room. "So it ended well. I am very pleased for you."

"You do not still worry we will be unhappy?"

Mr. Bennet shook his head. "Your young man is completely certain. Though I think _you_ know that far better than I by now. He is not a man who is acting against his better judgement."

Elizabeth smiled. "Isn't he delightful? And thank you for letting us marry so quickly. It has been so —"

"Lizzy, I shall believe you are playing cards all night tomorrow. I want to have this conversation with _you_ even less than with _him_. Now go tell your mother about your plans."

Elizabeth found her mother talking enthusiastically while Lord Matlock, Anne, and Colonel Fitzwilliam listened. "Mama, I have some news. Might I speak with you alone?"

Mrs. Bennet followed Elizabeth into the breakfast room, and as soon as the door was closed, Mrs. Bennet said, "You could have told me in front of them — they already know you are to marry Mr. Darcy. I suppose with an earl for an uncle the lack of fortune does not matter so much. It is a terrible pity that he is so poor."

"Mama, we plan to marry tomorrow by special license."

Her mother exclaimed, "Aha. I _knew_ it! You are with child. Very clever, Lizzy. Though you took a great risk. He might have walked away."

"No! I am not. Mama, how —"

"You only told him you were? He may become very angry if he discovers the truth. A midwife can help you forge a very creditable miscarriage."

" _Mama!_ "

"You must do something to hide the truth, if you cry and there is blood — well men do not _want_ to know about female matters."

 _This_ was why Elizabeth could not tell her mother in front of Lord Matlock. "We have not. I have not —"

"Are you certain? I have heard of women who did not know the details of the act. Has he lifted your skirts and —"

" _Mama!_ I know what the marital act involves. It's what animals do when they come into heat. I am neither stupid nor blind. Can we _never_ speak on this again? I am still a maiden, and I am _very_ eager to become a wife. _That_ is why we want to marry so soon and _nothing_ else."

"La, I understand. Marital congress" — Mrs. Bennet giggled — "rutting with a man; it can be _very_ delightful. I remember those first months fondly. I must tell you everything you need to know. It is not _just_ like beasts swiving each other. There is more to it, and you must convince your Mr. Darcy to perform the act in the right way if you wish to receive as much pleasure as the man does."

"Mama, I really do not wish to hear this."

"I would fail as a mother if I did not prepare you. You shall not leave until I have told you everything."

Fifteen minutes later Darcy knocked on the breakfast room door and entered it followed by his uncle and Colonel Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth's face was far redder than he had ever seen it before. Darcy hurried to her side, but she looked down and would not meet his eyes.

"We must leave for London quickly if we are to find the archbishop today." Darcy inclined his head to Mrs. Bennet. "I wish to speak to Elizabeth for a few minutes before."

"Heavens! Of course you may, Mr. Darcy." She winked at him and giggled.

Darcy led Elizabeth out of the room, but she did not meet his eye. Darcy said quietly, "What did your mother say when you told her?"

Elizabeth's bright red blush was still there, and she shook her head no.

"Please, I shall worry if you do not tell me something."

Elizabeth giggled hysterically. "You shall find out. I shall show you, _tomorrow_."

"It was something to do with our wedding? Did your mother object to such speed?"

"No. She had advice — for _after_ the wedding." Elizabeth giggled again and looked up, though her blush did not fade. "I do not know if it is good advice, but we shall _experiment_."

"You mean she told you about…"

"Yes. There were things I had not known." Elizabeth's mood suddenly changed, and she snarled out. "She thought I was with child. And when I denied it, she thought I lied to you about being with child."

"That was unkind of her." Darcy hugged Elizabeth. "I never needed such an encouragement to want to marry you. Even should the Lord deny us children, I will always be happy to be your companion."

Elizabeth kissed Darcy.

Lord Matlock shouted from the entry hall, "We must to London quickly. You can do more than kiss her tomorrow if we complete our errand."

Elizabeth laughed and pushed Darcy away. "Hurry — and return fast. Remember, I love you."

Darcy grinned at her with perfect happiness.

 **AN: So that is it, or almost. There is another epilogue chapter which is fluff and explanations of what happened to everyone set ten years after the end of the book.**

 **I hope all of you who lasted to this point did enjoy the story and the journey. I know that at points Darcy was a _bit_ slow, and the whole matter took too long to resolve, but I can promise that the mistakes in my next two books were entirely different. And most people liked them more. I should at some point in the next few months remove _A Dishonorable Offer_ from Amazon's exclusivity program and start posting it here. No promise on when though, since I'd like to still have it in KU when my next book comes out. I am right now working on the second draft of it.**

 **The story will involve Lady Catherine using information from Wickham to blackmail Darcy into agreeing to marry Anne, Elizabeth as a governess to Lady Catherine's unwanted ward, and dark deeds.**


	30. Chapter 30

Pemberley, December 1822

Elizabeth Darcy sat in Pemberley's nursery, surrounded by her children. Charlotte sat on Elizabeth's lap, and Elizabeth pressed her lips against the toddler's forehead every minute or so. They became bigger so quickly. She loved the sweet smell of a small, well bathed child.

Soon the guests and their many children would begin arriving.

Her two older daughters, Jane and Anne, were next to the toy bin, engaged in complex planning for how to entertain their cousins later today.

Bennet sat next to Elizabeth on the couch. He waved his hand in front of Charlotte, and she giggled and grabbed at his fingers.

"Are you ready for everyone to arrive? Eager to see cousin Lizzy again?" Elizabeth quizzed him. Bennet was the oldest of her children. He was adorably like his father. Dark hair, features that would be very handsome when older, and a solemn manner.

It made her want to hold and squeeze the dear boy and never let him go.

"I am, Mama. I shall show her my new horse."

"A fine scheme. She will think Ares is very impressive."

"I hope so."

Bennet and Jane's oldest daughter had been near friends since they were very young. Jane and Elizabeth had decided, while the two were still in their cradles, that it would be wonderful if their children married.

Jane and Bingley only had daughters so far. Fortunately, Bingley had ample money and no entail. When Darcy paid him back, Bingley had placed all of the money in a fund for his daughter's dowries.

Elizabeth carefully put Charlotte on the floor, and the girl happily toddled towards her sisters.

Bennet smiled and happily let Elizabeth embrace him and kiss his cheeks. That was another way Bennet was like Fitzwilliam. He loved hugs and little touches between loved ones. "My sweet little Benny."

He squirmed away and protested, "You know I wish you to call me Bennet."

It would break her heart in a few years when they sent him off to Eton.

Elizabeth ruffled his hair. "One day you will leave us and demand all your friends call you Darcy."

"Yes." Bennet nodded his head, like Fitzwilliam did when stating a certain truth. "I know."

The nursery maid opened the door. "Ma'am, they have sighted the Windham's carriage starting up the drive."

Elizabeth stood and called her daughters over so that she could kiss them one last time before going down to greet Anne and her husband and children. Elizabeth's two older girls were adorable, though Jane's adventurousness gave Elizabeth more sympathy for her own mother than she'd ever expected to feel.

She, of course, was Darcy's favorite. After all, she looked and acted just like her mother.

On the other hand, Anne's mannerisms were similar to those of her aunt Jane.

A moment after Elizabeth reached the entrance hall, Darcy entered it coming from his study. Her heart still skipped when she saw him. Especially when he smiled at her like that.

"Lizzy." He kissed her.

A minute later, she laughed happily and pushed him away. "What will our guests think if we are too busy kissing to greet them?"

Darcy smirked. He took her arm, and they walked onto the estate's wide porch. "Anne already knows what we are like."

Elizabeth giggled wickedly. They had been almost scandalously open in showing affection to each other during the first years of their marriage. As Bennet became older, they had become more discreet since _him_ finding them in a too tender moment was more frightening than Anne or a servant doing so.

Anne had lived with them for two years. Then she'd fallen in love with Mr. Windham's oldest son, and Elizabeth was delighted that her friend was still so close. The couple had had two children so far.

Elizabeth and Darcy strolled down to meet their friends as their carriage rolled up the end of the long drive. It was a gorgeous December day with crystal clear air and a beautiful unbroken expanse of white over the park's fields. Elizabeth loved the crisp clean smell and the way the morning air nipped at her cheeks in the few minutes they would be outside.

Anne glowed as she leapt out of her carriage, not waiting for her husband to hand her out. She embraced Elizabeth and whispered, "Do not tell Fitzwilliam, we wish to make a production of the announcement, but I am expecting another."

Elizabeth embraced her friend back, carefully _not_ examining her figure to see if the babe showed.

The older Mr. Windham followed his son out. Anne's daughter bounced out of the carriage and eagerly pushed a doll into Elizabeth's face so that cousin Elizabeth could admire the gift from her mother.

By trying in every respect to be different from Lady Catherine, Anne had become, in Elizabeth's opinion, a nearly perfect mother. Her children would likely never meet their maternal grandmother. Anne had not seen Lady Catherine since the day Elizabeth and Darcy became engaged, and she did not want to see her mother ever again. Lady Catherine, as near as they could tell from the letters Charlotte sent, was satisfied with this.

The arguments following Darcy's marriage had led to a break between Lord Matlock and his sister. Lady Catherine sat alone, ruling over a mostly empty Rosings Park. However, while the house staff were paid by Lady Catherine's own portion, the steward served Anne and her husband.

Mr. Collins had, at the advice of his wife, sided with Anne and Lord Matlock. Charlotte confessed in her letters to Elizabeth that she was delighted to not need to pay court to Lady Catherine any longer. Charlotte was content with her situation and happy with her children. However, Elizabeth would never believe her friend had made the right choice when she married Mr. Collins.

As they walked into Pemberley's splendid, though somewhat outdated, entry hall, Darcy asked the older Mr. Windham, with a slightly awkward air, about one of the tenants on the land he had sold to Windham.

Even now, after almost ten years, her husband still felt a responsibility towards his old holdings. Lord Matlock had tried to convince Darcy not to sell the land, but Darcy wished to make a grand gesture proving he now cared more for Elizabeth than the matters which had obsessed him for so long.

It was very sweet and romantic, but… Elizabeth had felt conflicted at the time.

Darcy had believed it the right decision from the point of view of money matters. A belief proved right when everyone's rents sharply fell after wheat prices collapsed in 1815.

Mr. Windham had needed to forgive part of the rents owed to him to keep the tenants from exhausting their capital and going bankrupt. However, his son had just married Darcy's very wealthy cousin, and he laughed when Darcy suggested he felt guilty about the matter.

Only a quarter of an hour after Anne arrived, Georgiana and Wickham's carriage rolled to a stop.

For many years their marriage had been troubled and unhappy. However, the couple _now_ were happy, and Elizabeth was near certain the improvement in Wickham's character would be permanent.

After the settlement was made on Georgiana, Wickham continued to gamble, and he perpetually had large debts to tradesmen and friends hanging over his head. Georgiana and the children spent a great deal of time at Pemberley to save the expense of renting a good house, so he could use the bulk of his income to repay debts of honor.

Darcy and Elizabeth adored their sister and nephews, and Wickham spent most of those months away. On the whole Elizabeth had been happy when Georgiana was resident with her. Darcy always was deeply annoyed when they found themselves obliged to put up an extra one or two hundred to cover debts to tradesmen that Wickham thought it beneath a gentleman to pay. Fortunately, Wickham soon found it very difficult to get credit from shopkeepers, and Darcy absolutely refused to help any merchant who gave Wickham credit a second time. The sums were never great enough to be more than frustrating.

Over the years Georgiana became exasperated with her husband. Wickham would not change, and he clearly valued his clothes and the accoutrements of being a gentleman of fortune more than her. Because of how much time he spent enjoying himself away from her, in many ways the children looked more towards Darcy as a father than Mr. Wickham.

Then he was shot.

A gentleman grew tired of Wickham's endless delays over repaying a large gambling debt. In the following duel Wickham's lower arm was shattered by a bullet, and he refused to let it be amputated until an infection had set in. Georgiana had been at Pemberley with her children when the duel occurred in Bath.

She still loved Wickham and rushed to her husband's side. For the next three months, she frantically nursed him while Wickham wavered on the edge between death and life. He suffered repeated fevers, and on three separate occasions the doctor gave up hope before Wickham at last recovered.

Something changed in him after his extended brush with death.

It had been four years since, and he had not touched a deck of cards. The months of complete dependence on Georgiana's care, without which he would certainly have died, left him with a real affection and admiration for his wife. When he recovered, Wickham resettled his family in the market town nearest Pemberley. He'd been a genuinely devoted and decent husband since.

When their carriage arrived, Wickham helped Georgiana out with his remaining hand, and his children ran out to embrace their aunt and uncle. Darcy and Wickham shook hands. For the past year a genuine, though extremely cautious, friendship had begun to grow between the two. Time had made Darcy believe Wickham's transformation _might_ be permanent.

At noon General Fitzwilliam and his father arrived by horse. Lord Matlock was nearly seventy, and he'd gone deaf in one ear, which made him tend to yell even more. However, he was still vigorous and could be found on a horse whenever possible. An hour later Jane and Bingley arrived with their four daughters. Then Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner a few hours before dinner.

It was a huge happy group.

Bingley and Darcy laughed and talked in their perfectly complementary manner. General Fitzwilliam, who so far was an eternal bachelor, sat in the midst of the ladies and made them all laugh. Jane spent a half hour in the nursery visiting her nieces and nephew.

People wandered between the drawing room and the library and the galleries with their views of the park. The old galleries that had once been filled with the finest expensive art work in England were now filled with much cheaper sculptures and paintings that Elizabeth _liked_. For his part Fitzwilliam did not care.

He did care about the library, which they'd stocked over the years by constantly looking for chances to get books cheaply when estate libraries were ransacked by debt collectors or uncaring heirs. They had decided they wanted a large variety of books instead of the most expensive or impressive editions.

Darcy had initially wished to spend most of his income and only put one or two thousand a year towards reducing his debts — which, after all, had been reduced by the sales to Mr. Windham to a sum only a little greater in value than the entirety of Longbourn. That very modest sum was still vast in _Elizabeth's_ untutored eyes.

He wanted her to have everything his wife could possibly deserve.

Elizabeth didn't want him to spend money for her. He had married her; he was unchangeably convinced they belonged together. She could never want more.

It took more than a year, and a great deal of advice from the Gardiners, before a comfortable balance was achieved that allowed both a very elegant mode of life and consistent reduction of the debts.

Since everyone was talking happily, Elizabeth left the drawing room to ask the cook about when the roasts and other dishes would be ready. If she snuck a morsel, or two… she would walk it off the next day.

Their entertainments would never be famous for their extravagance or the fifty exotic courses served, but in Elizabeth's opinion anyone worth having to dine wanted good food and good company more than an opportunity to marvel at eating a bird imported from Egypt or China.

Their furniture and decorations were sensible, comfortable, and durable — what tradesmen like Elizabeth's aunt and uncle would buy, not what great aristocrats like Darcy's relatives preferred. They kept everything until its use had run out. Darcy had a pair of good hunting horses, but not his own pack of foxhounds.

With these and similar economies, Elizabeth and Darcy lived far better, and more rationally, than her mother and father. They were able to reduce their debts by several thousand each year, even in the worst years of the agricultural crisis, since the prices of their expenditures had gone down, though not nearly as far as their income.

When the last of the debts were paid off two years ago, they had not changed their mode of life at all. More than five thousand a year was being set aside for the dowries of her daughters. Even though the money would be split several ways, unless she had several more daughters, each girl should have nearly as large a portion as Georgiana's had been.

When Elizabeth returned to the drawing room she found the gentlemen loudly talking in one corner. All of them, except Wickham, were making joking bets about the outcome of the hunt planned for the next morning.

Anne waved for Elizabeth to join the ladies. She held the scroll of a watercolor painting, which she unfolded when Elizabeth sat in the middle of the group.

During the years when she was at Pemberley, Anne had tried to develop accomplishments with a fervor. She hired excellent music masters, and drawing masters, and language tutors, and she planned to study everything. Elizabeth laughingly joined Anne, when it did not interfere with her rigorous schedule of kissing Darcy and enjoying the glorious Derbyshire countryside.

While Anne gained a fluency in French and Italian, she had no singing voice and did not enjoy the piano or screen netting at all. However, she loved to paint. It was how she and her husband had become close. She picked a hill that was on the border between what Darcy had sold to Mr. Windham and the land that still belonged to Pemberley and attempted to paint every perspective visible from there.

John Windham had ridden near the day she started, and after that first conversation he visited every morning and kept Anne company while she drew.

"Lizzy, what you think? Is it not very like? It is to be a gift for you and Fitzwilliam."

It was a painting of Bennet with that serious solemn expression he'd inherited from his father. "Oh, I love it. We shall hang it in the study."

Presents and gifts were exchanged, Elizabeth read the letters from Mary, Kitty and Lydia, all of whom had married happily. Papa visited on occasion, but he always left before the holidays to avoid crowds. After dinner the children were brought to the drawing room, and they ran about the room laughing and playing. With Georgiana seated at the piano, they sang carols together. Everyone was happy, and the evening was perfect.

At last, it was time to retire.

Elizabeth had watched Darcy for the last hour with that impatience she often felt when they were among other people. He was so handsome, with his broad shoulders, and thick dark hair, and the wicked smile he flashed at her when he saw that she watched him like an infatuated bird of prey.

The love of holding, and kissing, and being his wife never palled. It never would. They would be old and grey together, and she'd be annoyed any time company kept them past ten o'clock because she wanted to kiss her sweet, dear, masculine husband again and again.

When the drawing room had emptied, Darcy pulled Elizabeth next to him and kissed her hard. He then blew all of the candles out himself, following an old habit of small economies. As he did so he said, "Mrs. Darcy, I do not wish to presume, but I could not avoid suspecting that you were hoping to get something from me for the past hour. There was a quite… intent look in your eyes."

"Really. How strange. I thought my eyes were just wandering absently."

Darcy took Elizabeth's hand and squeezed it warmly as they walked out of the room and shut the door. "I have noticed, my dear, that often when you are not focused elsewhere, that your eyes wander in my direction. It is almost as though you enjoy looking at me very much."

"How strange. I truly had no notion I did so."

"Have I never mentioned it before?"

"Ah. I think you have. But I believe I was looking into your eyes when you did so. They are very blue. Did you know? And I fear I never can think clearly when I look into them. There is something in them that makes me feel very queer."

They entered their chambers. Darcy put the candleholder down on the table and said with a hungry look in his eyes. "Tell me. Tell me how you feel queer when you look in my eyes."

"But sir…" Elizabeth looked down as though she were a shy maiden. "It is very improper. I know I should not talk about such things."

He kissed her on each cheek and then nibbled on her ear. "Lizzy, tell me," he whispered.

"Well…" Elizabeth touched one breast and then the other, "I feel tight here and here. And also down —"

Darcy pulled her into a passionate kiss.

That never changed.

From the very first time Elizabeth had kissed Fitzwilliam Darcy, every kiss was the most perfect moment of her life.


End file.
